The Definition of Family
by oliver.snape
Summary: Sequel to the Definition of Home. Now back at Hogwarts, Harry balances school and his home life as he prepares to face Voldemort and learns to trust Snape's guidance. Along the way they both learn that family also means support.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Higher rating cause I'll end up swearing at one point in this. Little Harry/Elliot will be back in later chapters, and there will be no CP at all. I'm stealing a few bits from canon, but will be veering mostly off course from now on. :) Thanks for all the awesome reviews, you all continue to make my day everytime I login here!

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Ch 1 - Welcome Back to Hogwarts

A bright blob of orange plastic danced above the crowd of hungry and excited students, who chattered loudly and laughed as they greeted each other after a long summer. Harry, Ron, and Hermione slowly trudged with the Gryffindors to spots near the front of the Gryffindor table, waving at members of the DA in other houses as they went to sit down. Harry gleefully scanned the staff table, satisfied when he saw no garishly outfitted pink professor there. He smiled a little as he spotted Snape, looking annoyed already to be facing the students again. The crowd hushed as a sudden and very strange sound echoed through the hall.

"Moooooooo."

Harry spun his head so fast that he heard his neck crick, and not a second later burst out laughing as he saw the headmaster make his way to the head table, bright orange crown atop his head and the plastic cow flicking it's tail in time with the wind mills. Ron joined into the laughter as it spread throughout the hall, much to the amusement of Dumbledore and most of the other teachers. Snape was the only one who didn't look impressed, and Harry knew it was not because he hated Dumbledore's quirkiness, but because he'd just lost three galleons on their bet.

When Snape was announced as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Harry had managed to look properly disturbed. It wasn't at the actual announcement, unlike most of his classmates, but instead at the look of pure smugness that Draco Malfoy was sporting. Harry doubted that Malfoy was truly happy for Snape, he was far too Slytherin for that and Harry remembered from the summer visit that Malfoy thought Snape was inferior to his family. No, the look Malfoy had on his face was a calculated glee, as if he were trying to figure out how to best take advantage of Snape's new position.

"This is stupid." Harry muttered, knowing full well that Snape could out-Slytherin Malfoy even when he was feeling under the weather.

"Yes it is." Hermione answered in a slightly scolding tone, misunderstanding him. "Professor Snape is part of the Order, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore promoted him for a good reason."

"Sure he did." Ron laughed, swiping an extra scoop of mashed potatoes from a bowl near him. "The position's cursed, remember Hermione?"

"Ron, it's not cursed. That's just a school rumour." Hermione shook her head, reaching for more pumpkin juice.

"As long as it works." Ron muttered, before following Harry's line of sight towards Malfoy. "You can't hex him by just glaring, Harry. I've already tried."

Harry glanced back up at the staff table, where Dumbledore was feeding the cow on his hat little pieces of grass from the table decoration.

"I've got something to tell you guys. Tonight." He finally said, giving them a rather uneasy look.

….

Later that evening, when the first and second years had gone off to bed, Harry sat on the common room couch with his feet propped up on the table. He was idly scratching the side of his head with his wand, a habit he'd picked up over the summer while he was reading or thinking. Hermione was tracking his hand's every movement, with a rather alarmed look on her face.

"Harry…"

"Remember the lessons I mentioned, the ones that Professor Dumbledore's going to give me?" Harry interrupted, still rubbing his head with the wand.

Hermione's hands were twitching in her lap as she answered yes and Ron nodded.

"Well, they're the reason I couldn't come to Grimmauld Place this summer. I had to help someone else from the Order with a task, and it was related to these lessons."

Ron, who looked blessedly confused, leaned forward to speak lower. It was completely unnecessary due to the lack of people around them and the loud radio at their table, but it made the conversation seem that much more serious.

"And while I was on the mission," Harry lied, figuring the slight misalignment of the smaller details wouldn't harm the big picture, "I found out that Malfoy is now a death eater."

Hermione sucked in her breath and clutched on to her notebook a little harder. Around them, late night stragglers scurried to finish their last bits of summer homework before term officially started the next day. They paid no mind to Harry, Hermione and Ron, apparently accustomed to the threesome and their little conversation huddles.

"Harry, are you sure? He's only sixteen…" Hermione trailed off, reminding them all that they were very much still children playing an adult's game.

"I'm sure, Hermione. And he's been ordered to get close to Dumbledore." Harry stated, trying to lower his voice and sound ominous. He had held back on the true assignment to Malfoy for a few reasons, the most annoying being that Snape was right and if Hermione knew Draco was to kill the headmaster, she'd march right up to Dumbledore's office and demand something official be done. Frustrating as it was to keep quiet, Harry figured that Draco would actually be less of a danger to the other students if he thought no one knew of his plans.

"That's not good, mate. Especially since we saw in Diagon Alley that he's demanded some stuff from that scraggly, evil looking bloke." Ron stated, sitting back again.

"That was Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf that attacked Remus." Harry said distractedly, tapping his wand against his temple. He was startled when Hermione reached across Ron and snatched it.

"Do you _want_ to end up in the infirmary tonight?" Hermione asked, rather exasperated.

"Maybe not tonight." Harry grinned. "But anyway, we need to keep a close eye on Malfoy. He's going to be up to something nasty this year, and it's an order straight from Voldemort."

Ron cupped his chin and scratched at the stubble that was growing there. He looked like he was pondering a particularly tricky chess match.

"You know what it is, don't you Harry?" Hermione asked, sounding rather resigned.

"Ron, what happens if you break an unbreakable vow?" Harry asked, his gaze hard and focused as he avoided answering Hermione's question.

"You can't. If you do, you die." Ron snorted, but it was a sound devoid of humour.

"Draco Malfoy made an unbreakable vow?" Hermione hissed rapidly, her eyes widened at the thought. "With Voldemort?"

"No." Harry held out his hand over the table and lowered it a little, to halt Hermione's questions. "His mother tried to make one with Snape, to protect Malfoy while he did Voldemort's task."

Silence dropped between them and Harry wondered if they'd ask where he'd gotten the information. Instead, Hermione placed her hands over Harry's wand and rolled it back towards him.

Ron looked up, his blue eyes bright under the messy red fringe of his hair. "This is huge. Like, prison huge."

"Welcome back to Hogwarts." Harry said, grimly.

….

Hermione only sat with them for a few minutes after breakfast before rushing off to her approved sixth year arithmancy course. Harry waited while McGonagall perused his O.W.L. results and course preference sheet. He glanced down to his left arm as she read, making sure his tattoo was still covered by the glamour.

"Do you still wish to be an auror, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked, pulling an empty timetable from her folder.

Harry hesitated for a second before answering. He didn't, but suddenly he didn't want people to know that either. For some reason he didn't mind letting them believe the boy saviour would become the Ministry's happy little auror, and keeping his real plans to himself. Well, once he figured out what those plans were, anyway.

"I'd like to be prepared for it, ma'am." Harry answered choosing his words carefully.

"Good to hear, Mr. Potter." She smiled warmly at him and handed him a filled timetable. "Do take Mr. Weasley with you, he looks far too content with his free time."

Ron, who had been laughing at Seamus' singing of _'If I only had a brain,'_ spun around with a wild look.

"Off you go then." McGonagall tutted, handing Ron his own timetable. They stood and headed towards the doors, bags slouched on their shoulders.

"Er, what class did I get signed up for?" Ron asked.

"Potions, Ron. Our favourite." Harry said with a small laugh as he checked their schedules.

"Bugger." Ron grumbled, a little louder than he'd meant to.

"Weasley!" McGonagall admonished, as they hurried out of sight.

…

It was a third year Ravenclaw who found him at the end of the day and passed along the message, catching Harry just as he was wandering back up to Gryffindor tower. Ron and Hermione waved goodbye as Harry headed towards the headmaster's office, pausing for a few seconds to smile at the gargoyle and give the password.

"Clotted cream fudge."

Harry traced his fingers along the wall as the spiral staircase propelled him up. He was very glad to be back at Hogwarts, as he usually was each September, but this year his mood seemed to be even better than it was in previous years.

Harry entered the office, his eyes widening a little as he took in the attendants. Snape was there, as was Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey. Harry, who over the summer had learned that it was best to keep his mouth shut and pretend he wasn't completely surprised, gave a cheerful hello and took a seat in the empty chair between Snape and Pomfrey.

"Good afternoon, Harry. Care for some tea?" Dumbledore was looking particularly cheerful, using his good hand to drop an obscene amount of sugar in a chipped #1 Teacher mug.

"I'm fine, thanks." Harry returned politely. He sat back in the chair and waited, knowing that sooner or later he'd find out the reason they'd all been summoned.

"This will be a short little meeting, I think." Dumbledore started, handing out tea to the two women sitting to the right of Harry. "Important news, though it will stay between the five of us." His tone was friendly, but it was meant to be obeyed and the level of power Albus Dumbledore commanded was evident in his voice.

"We are all Order members here, Albus, with the exception of Mr. Potter. I think you can trust our discretion." McGonagall looked close to rolling her eyes, and Harry fought back a grin.

"Precisely." Dumbledore smiled, conjuring up a tray of tea biscuits that he placed in front of Harry. "And Harry is the son of an Order member, so by rights he can be trusted."

"Yes…" McGonagall commented, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Harry was busy checking out the office, rather amused at how quickly Dumbledore had managed to acquire more knickknacks, trinkets, and gadgets after Harry had destroyed the office at the end of June. Silence fell over the room, as if Dumbledore had no intention of actually delivering whatever message he intended to share.

"It must be a Thursday." Snape muttered beside him, making Harry bite his lip to stop from smiling.

"It's a Tuesday, Severus. Did you not get the new planning calendar I left in your office? I thought it a rather appropriate welcome back gift." Dumbledore smiled blandly, obviously in no rush to push the conversation.

"Headmaster, if it is indeed only Tuesday," and Snape shook his head slightly at this, as if he couldn't believe the week was just starting, "then we all have tasks to attend to rather shortly. If you don't mind?"

"Of course not, Severus. Minerva, Poppy, have you noticed any changes regarding Harry's school files?" Dumbledore asked, sipping his tea.

"Good lord." Snape grumbled under his breath, ignoring the little snort Harry let escape.

"I have, actually. Mr. Potter, would you care to tell me why your first and last name now flickers on your medical chart?" Madame Pomfrey nodded to a rather thick folder on the headmaster's desk, and looked at him with a mock stern look. "I go through the files every summer to ensure I have up to date records, and yours started that a few days ago."

Harry's first instinct was to stutter that he didn't know that would happen, but Snape had told him before that no one was to know of the adoption, so he decided silence was best.

"Funny you should mention that, Madame Pomfrey. I received a new permission slip for Hogsmeade outings for Mr. Potter here." McGonagall's gaze wavered between both Snape and Harry, the latter whom finally realised that McGonagall must have seen who had signed the form.

"You signed my form for me?" Harry asked, turning to Snape.

"As your godfather expired earlier this summer…" Snape countered with a small wave of his hand, sounding very nonplussed about the whole thing.

"Severus, expired is perhaps not the nicest terminology." The headmaster sounded amused though, and Harry was pleased to realise that he didn't have the huge ache in his chest any more from mentions of Sirius.

"Does this mean you have some sort of guardianship over Harry?" McGonagall asked, looking both happy and worried. She didn't sound terribly surprised, however, and Harry figured that as an Order member she must have known Harry had spent the summer with Snape.

"I'm afraid it's worse than that." Snape drawled, looking pained. "I've taken a leave of my senses and adopted him."

"Have you always been this funny?" Harry asked, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.

"Don't pout." Snape tapped his knees, glaring at him to sit up. "Sarcasm is not becoming on you."

"It's a family trait, isn't it? I'll get better at it." Harry rolled his eyes. The headmaster winked at him from across the desk.

"I'm sure you will, if you spend enough time around Severus." Dumbledore looked mischievous.

"Thank you, Headmaster." Snape interrupted, as he turned to face McGonagall and Pomfrey. "The purpose of the meeting was to inform you both about the adoption, for any medical issues that may arise or otherwise." Snape left the otherwise undefined, but it was like talking about the proverbial pink hippogriff in the corner of the room.

"Of course, Severus. I maintain the utmost confidentiality in the infirmary, and should Mr. Potter find himself there, I shall notify you discreetly." Pomfrey assured, giving Harry a rare smile.

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. Perhaps on the weekend you can arrange for a wizard allergy test, as over the summer we have discovered that Potter has a rather severe muggle allergy." Snape asked, sounding as if he had a list of things to do regarding Harry.

"Easily arranged." Pomfrey agreed, conjuring a note out of nowhere and sticking it to the top of Harry's file.

"Does the Ministry know?" McGonagall asked, clearly remembering the interference Umbridge had run on the school.

"About my allergy?" Harry asked, a bit confused. Snape rolled his eyes.

"In theory, yes." Snape then smirked, looking like a cat who'd caught his prey. "The adoption was processed both by Muggle authorities and the Ministry. But as it was done by a former Slytherin…"

Harry watched as his head of house chuckled and actually winked at Snape.

"Very good, Severus. I would not expect otherwise."

After agreeing to let Harry use her office to floo down to Snape's private Hogwarts flat on Friday, McGonagall stood up and patted Harry's arm.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter." She nodded towards Snape and spoke in a lower voice. "Do make him proud, I know you can."

Harry felt his cheeks glow red with a blush, and he mumbled his thanks. That was exactly what he planned on doing.

…..

Wednesday morning was their first defence class of the year, and they divided the class by Gryffindor and Slytherin in seating arrangements as usual. The room, which had the year before been disgustingly clean and sterile under the use of Umbridge, was now dark and filled with various strange and creepy artefacts. The portraits on the walls were filled with haunted faces and twisted bodies, and in the back corner of the class was a suspiciously empty and rusted cage. The blinds were mostly drawn, and Snape was nowhere in sight.

Harry sat with Ron, Hermione, and Seamus as they waited for Snape to appear, chatting rather quietly to themselves. No point in getting in trouble the first class, Harry figured, sneaking a glance across the aisle to where Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were sitting. Though it was rather warm in the room, certainly warmer than usual for Scotland in September, Malfoy was fully dressed in uniform and had his robes fully drawn. Harry wondered if any of the other Slytherins knew he'd taken the mark.

"Harry!" Seamus whispered rather loudly from the desk behind him. "Heard it was you who got Dumbledore the Dutch hat."

Harry grinned and gave a slight nod. "Maybe."

Seamus broke into a wide smile, his face defining mischief.

"Know any dirty words in Dutch?"

Harry glanced around, but everyone else seemed to be interested in their own conversations. Though he'd only spent a few days with Jeroen and Emma, he'd learned a few interesting phrases from them.

"Jij bent een…"

"Finish that sentence and you'll be scrubbing cauldrons all evening." Snape barked, sweeping into the room and banging the classroom door shut. A silence fell over the class, but Harry could hear Malfoy snickering. Damn Snape and his impeccable timing.

"Yes, sir." Harry replied dryly, turning around and facing the front. Snape had warned Harry during their last breakfast at Spinner's End that once they had gone back to school and were in public, that Snape would go back to his role of hating Harry. Harry was up to the challenge of acting his part, and kept his expression surly.

Snape flicked his wand and the words Sixth Year Defence Against the Dark Arts appeared on the chalkboard.

"I can only imagine how little you all have managed to learn in this class, with the parade of revoltingly inadequate past professors." Snape sneered, crossing his arms as he faced the class with his lanky black hair covering part of his black glare. "As such, I now have the unpleasant task of determining which of the likely startling few of you will be able to successfully defend yourselves against a sixth year hex, and which," here Snape fixed his gaze on the Gryffindor side of the room, "will fail miserably."

He started to walk down towards the back of the classroom, tapping his wand on his forearm, seemingly talking to himself but capturing the attention of the whole class.

"Which of you skitter away from a mere pixie, which of you dare face a werewolf." Snape glared in Draco's direction, and kept walking. His voice was low and dangerous sounding.

"Which of you can stare down a grindylow, who knows how to disperse of a redcap, and who didn't back down against an unforgivable." Snape stopped a few steps from Harry, staring down at him with a piercing look. He moved his hand, raising his wand, and Harry immediately reacted.

"Protego!" Harry claimed, scrambling to his feet and erecting a shield over himself and Hermione. The force of the shield made Snape's hair twitch.

"A little paranoid, are we?" Snape gave a nasty little smile. Harry blushed, but kept his stance and his shield. Behind Snape Harry could hear Malfoy and the other Slytherins snickering.

"There's a boggart in the back book cupboard, Potter. Rid the classroom of it." Snape ordered, before turning and walking back up to the front of the class.

Harry stared at Snape's retreating back as he thought of his dementor boggart. He hoped like hell that Snape knew what Harry's boggart was, and that he would step in if something went wrong. Walking towards the back cupboard, which rattled ominously now as it realised someone was approaching, Harry began to use the daydreaming occlumency method that Snape had reinforced over the summer. Malfoy's sneering voice cut across the room in a not so subtle undertone, and Harry turned to see that Snape had gone into his office to get something.

"Better put out some pillows, since Princess Potty passes out from the big scary dementors." Malfoy sneered, elbowing his two friends.

"Shut up, Malfoy." Ron growled, his face turning slightly red with his annoyance.

"And the Weasel coming to the rescue of his fair maiden, how sweet." Malfoy taunted back, causing Goyle and Crabbe to grunt in laughter along with him.

There was a slamming sound as Snape banged what sounded like a stack of books together and the door to his office creaked fully open again. Harry, not wanting to get yelled at, focused on the cupboard and managed to shut Draco out as he remembered the relaxed movie conversation Seamus had started the night before in the dorm. Harry's lips turned into a sneaky grin and he pointed his wand at the book cupboard, flicking it open. There were a few gasps in the room as the air chilled and a dementor glided out of the cupboard, but it only lasted for a few seconds before Harry stared at it with determined concentration and flicked his wand.

"Riddikulus!"

There was a resounding crack, and a delayed roar of laughter came from his classmates. There, by the cupboard and looking very confused, stood a boggart version of Draco Malfoy dressed like the Wicked Witch of the West. From the waist up, at least. The stereotypical black witch's hat was perched on the boggart's white blond hair, the face was painted an obscene green colour and the nose had a few warts on it. The dress was black and tatty, torn at a few places and ending at the knees where it looked to have been ripped off instead of hemmed. For the lower half of the outfit Harry had gone for the Wicked Witch of the East, giving the Draco boggart black and white striped stockings with red ruby slippers.

Quite satisfied with his results, Harry turned to glance at the class. Malfoy looked absolutely horrified, and was too shocked to say anything. The Gryffindors were not even bothering to hide their laughter, and Harry was pleased to see that a few Slytherins found the image rather amusing as well. Snape, who had returned to the front of the class, looked impassive as ever, but there was a small twitch to his lips as he tried not to show any signs of a smile. Snape had just brandished his wand to cast away the boggart when Malfoy found his voice and started cursing.

"You, you pervert! This is defamation! I'll get you for this, Potter!" Uneven red splotches marred Draco's pale face as he sputtered, seeming to forget that Snape was in the room. Back by Harry's desk, Seamus crowed rather loudly in a bad imitation of the Wicked Witch's voice.

"I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog too!"

The laughter erupted again, before Snape's lazy call for attention brought silence over the students. Incomprehensible muttering could be heard from Draco, but the rest of the class knew well enough to not say a word.

"Congratulations, Potter. Your first detention of the year. See me after class." Snape said with heavy sarcasm, before turning and putting the lesson points up on the chalkboard.

Harry tried to school his look of amusement into one of guilt and embarrassment. Hermione was the only other one to notice that Snape had not taken points for the incident, nor berated Harry for it.

…

Goyle, who'd never been particularly bright, didn't seem to be very quiet, either. His low voice carried through the dungeons much better than Malfoy's higher pitched and frantic whispers, reaching Harry and Ron's ears as they snuck their way back from the kitchens just before curfew.

"I told you," Malfoy hissed, pulling Goyle into an alcove near them, "once your father and my contact deliver what I need the plan will go off without a hitch."

Harry and Ron froze, pockets bulging with suddenly forgotten treacle tart and pumpkin muffins as they strained to listen. Harry figured Malfoy's secret contact was Greyback, but Malfoy didn't confirm the name. They edged closer to the corner of the stone wall, peeking around from the shadows.

"Why d'ya need me to get that potion?" Goyle grumbled, his annoyed look not much different to the stunned expression he usually wore.

"Because one of us has to distract Slughorn. You couldn't carry on a two minute conversation with him."

Goyle didn't seem insulted by his however, he merely grunted his agreement and asked how to break into the storage cupboard.

"Just use your thick head." Malfoy snapped. "And remember, it's mercury. It'll be labelled with the symbol for the planet or by the letters Hg."

Ron gave Harry a look, the same determined look he had on his face when they were ready to leave for the Ministry battle last summer. Harry gave a nod, and they silently backed away to head for the potions storage cupboard, as fast as they could possibly go.

…

Harry was used to noises. He was used to chaos, and his luck seemed to perform wonderfully in the best of chaotic times. However, the lower dungeons of Hogwarts at quarter past ten on a Wednesday night could hardly be considered chaotic. Up until ten seconds earlier, they could not be properly classified as noisy, either.

It had only taken a sneeze, one sneeze and one mishandled jar, for a noise to explode in the hallway in a way that Harry had only heard once before, at muggle primary school. The custodian had dropped a long, white fluorescent light tube in the hallway, and the BOOM that had echoed down the halls had sounded like a nuclear bomb going off, ringing through the cinderblock walls and making Harry scramble under a desk like he'd been taught in the silly air raid drills. This time around, after nearly jumping clear through his skin and feeling the burn of the watch Snape had ensured he wore, Harry only had one thought on his mind.

Run.

Run, and get the hell out of Snape's domain as fast as they possibly could. Harry was certain he'd have apparated out of there if the wards had let him, notwithstanding his lack of knowledge on apparition. He had the presence of mind to vanish the broken vial before taking off before either Snape or Slughorn could descend on the room. Their footsteps made harsh slapping noises as he and Ron tore out of the dungeons, taking the stairs two at a time and slipping behind a tapestry near the Great Hall to catch their breath and avoid being seen.

"If I didn't know any better," Ron huffed, "I'd say Snape set us up with that label. Caution, mildly unstable. Just a little!"

Harry brought the marauder's map out of his pocket and watched Snape circle around the potions storeroom they'd just been in, with Slughorn slowly making his way over. Goyle seemed to be stuck in the corridor with the potions classrooms. Harry's cheeks were slightly red and he felt wide-awake, as he thought back to the morning he'd woken up with a hangover and how pleasant Snape had been then.

"Believe it. He would."

"At least we stopped Malfoy from getting that. Could you imagine what he'd have done?"

"That's what I don't want to picture." Harry said, wiping dust off his pyjama pants. They'd only spotted the one jar of mercury in the storage cabinet, and Harry hoped that there weren't any others in the secondary cupboard Snape sometimes used to store ingredients in. He'd had a hard enough time disabling the wards on the first one, as proud as he'd felt to hear Ron be jealous of his skills, to want to worry about another cupboard.

Harry grinned as he checked that his lock picking kit was still tucked securely into his pocket. Ron would never believe where he'd gotten it, and Harry had gladly been vague about who exactly had given it to him as a birthday present.

After a few more minutes of calming down, Harry and Ron snuck their way through the hallways and towards the Gryffindor common room, barely managing to avoid being seen by Snape himself as the man moved on the stairs below them. Hermione was waiting in the empty common room when they entered, arms crossed and a slightly exasperated look on her face.

"You were supposed to just go for snacks. Why are you covered in dust? And why do you smell like gunpowder?"

"Did you know mercury is explosive?" Ron asked, picking a shard of glass out of his jumper. He didn't notice Hermione biting her lip to avoid smiling at them.

"Mercury fulminate?" She spelled a freshening charm over them and waited while Harry wiped his glasses clean. "They used to use it as a trigger for old guns."

"Well, that figures." Ron answered, plopping down onto the couch. The common room was empty and the fire was dwindling.

"And why would you need mercury fulminate, Ronald?"

"We don't, really." Harry shrugged. "But we overheard Malfoy ordering Goyle to get it, and from what he was saying it was something he needed for his death eater task."

"Sounded dangerous." Ron added helpfully, as he pulled their prize desserts out of his pockets.

"Obviously." Hermione answered, having a hard time not laughing. "So instead of telling Professor Slughorn that someone would try to steal from him, you decided to steal it yourselves? And blew it up instead?"

Harry shook his head as Ron shrugged.

"Not exactly. I sneezed from the dust in the room and dropped it. The explosion was an added bonus, really." Ron yawned, feeling sleepy now that they'd reached the safety of the dorms.

"What were we supposed to say, anyway? Professor Slughorn, we think someone is going to steal something from your storage cupboard tonight, and no, we can't tell you why. The man seems daft, but I don't think he'd fall for that."

Harry sat on the coffee table, the knit jumper soft against his back where his t-shirt had ridden up. It was one of Snape's old black ones from the wardrobe in his room at Spinner's End, and it made him feel a bit guilty. Maybe they should have told Snape, as it was Snape's wards still on the ingredients cupboard. Snape the professor probably wouldn't have listened to such a stupid and vague Gryffindor warning before, but Elliot's dad would.

"What if Malfoy was setting you up? You say it exploded as soon as it hit the ground?" Hermione was putting away her study notes, having already jumped ahead in their textbooks for most of her classes.

Ron looked down at the burn marks on his sneakers, and Harry followed his gaze. He was glad that he'd worn one of his old pairs, instead of the newer ones that Snape had bought him.

"It's over now, Hermione. And from the way that thing went off, let's just be glad Malfoy didn't get it." Ron answered, unwrapping a slice of treacle tart from a serviette and cramming it in his mouth.

Harry went to bed that night feeling uneasy, tossing and turning for a while as he tried to daydream of Christmas in Amsterdam. The low ball of guilt in the pit of his stomach wouldn't abate, however, and at half twelve he gave up, swinging his legs over his bed and grabbing the invisibility cloak.

Harry put on his sneakers and grabbed the jumper from the end of his bed, sneaking down to the common room before checking out his map once more. A few of the ghosts were drifting about the Great Hall and Professor Dumbledore seemed to be wandering in the hallway near the library, but Harry couldn't see Snape anywhere. A difficulty, as he had no idea yet where Snape lived while at the castle. He sat dejectedly on the leather couch by the cold fireplace before a thought came to him.

"Dobby!" Harry whispered, hoping that the little demented elf could keep quiet for once.

"Harry Potter sir!" A small crack sounded and Dobby appeared, wearing the official Hogwarts uniform, a polka dot tie and a striped tie, three of Hermione's knitted hats, and a tie-die tea cosy to top it off. He gave Harry a wide smile and nodded approvingly to the mismatched socks that extended out from Harry's slippers.

"Hi Dobby." Harry grinned back, wondering how many strange looks he'd get if he decided to randomly dress like Dobby one day. Snape would probably have him committed.

"You is staying up late, Harry Potter Sir. What can Dobby do to help?" Dobby wagged a finger at him, but the bright eyes betrayed any admonishment.

"I need you to take me to Professor Snape's…er…his flat. Where he lives at the castle." Harry stood up and wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, hoping Dobby wouldn't object too much.

"Dobby can do that, yes sir Harry Potter." Dobby gave him another grin and almost bounced out of the room, nearly knocking off the precious balance of tea cosy and knitted hats on his head. As they passed through the Gryffindor portrait hole, Dobby admonished Harry.

"Yous been having your clothes washed by another house elf." Dobby said, shaking his finger.

"Err..yeah. Some weird nutter named Twinky was washing them. Snape uses his company." Harry had no idea why he was blushing, as technically Dobby wasn't his house elf.

"Dobby has heard of Twinky, Harry Potter sir." Dobby nodded, leading Harry down a cobwebbed corridor.

By the time they'd arrived at the small wooden door in a tiny hallway of the dungeons, Harry felt like the gnawing force in his stomach had grown to the size of a kneazle. It was past midnight, freezing cold, dark, he had a cheerfully deranged house elf guiding him, and he'd ended up at a plain and imposing door that had a tiny snake carved into the metal hinge on the side. Harry would have completely missed the snake, had it not been hissing at him.

_Your da's not very pleased with you._ The snake hissed in a singsong voice, much like an older sibling would when they knew they weren't the one in trouble. Harry didn't bother to ask how the snake knew who he was, deciding to just dismiss Dobby and knock before he lost his nerve.

The snake taunted him for the longest minute of his life before the door cracked open and Snape appeared, looking disgruntled but not all together surprised.

"You are unharmed." Snape stated it without question and it caught Harry off guard, as he'd not been expecting those words to be Snape's first. Then he remembered the watch, and how it had flashed red with danger when the bottle had blown up. Wonderful.

_Not for much longer_. If snakes could laugh, Harry was quite certain this one was nearly in tears.

"Shut up." Harry hissed back with his eyes down cast as he walked through the doorway, completely missing Snape's raised eyebrow at the parseltongue, and wondering why Snape's house servants all seemed to be nasty and vindictive.

The hallway walls were the same brownish cream colour as at Spinner's End, but the coat rack to his left was an evil edition. Harry eyed it warily, its wrought iron elaborate arms flexing menacingly at Harry.

Snape ushered him to the end of the hall, where he opened another plain black wooden door. Harry stepped inside and made a beeline for the inviting charcoal grey couch that was sitting across from the fireplace. The walls were painted a very light turquoise blue – not a colour Harry expected from Snape at all but it mixed very well with the stone floor and the teak wood furniture. As dark as Snape's desk was in his office, it seemed that in his own private flat, he had gone for a bit lighter tone.

"So the dead things in jars look is just to maintain an image?" Harry asked lightly, sitting back against the cushions on the couch and inspecting the rest of the room. The fireplace was large enough for a person to floo through, but not overly ornate, and the bookshelves here were tidy, ordered, and mostly of an academic nature.

Snape gave him a glare as he sat down in his own chair, passing Harry a mug of tea.

"Much like your idiotic performance this evening, keeping up the hero image."

"I'm sorry." Harry winced, the tea far too hot still for his tongue. "I would have told you, but there was no time."

"I am very curious as to why you felt the need to break into my storeroom to smash a jar of mercury." Snape countered, tapping the side of his chair with his hand. His expression was rather blank, though he was allowing Harry the chance to explain himself.

"Ron and I overheard Malfoy ordering Goyle to get the mercury. He didn't say what it was for, but he mentioned waiting for a delivery and that he needed the mercury in time for it."

Snape looked thoughtful as he drank more of his tea. Harry relaxed himself a bit more on the couch, thinking that perhaps he might not be in actual trouble.

"You happened to just overhear this outside of the Gryffindor common room." Snape finally said.

"No, it was by the kit-" Harry furrowed his brow. "Don't do that."

"Mmh. Now I see the whole picture. You and the insatiable Weasley wandered to the kitchen for a midnight snack, and you overhear Mr. Malfoy speaking about a highly combustible ingredient. Instead of coming to tell me about this, you decide to go with Weasley after curfew and steal the mercury. Do I have that right?" The eyes were narrowed at him, and Harry stared down at his lap.

"To be fair, we didn't know it was that combustible until it, well, exploded."

Snape clunked his tea mug on the side table in irritation, letting Harry know that that was the wrong thing to say.

"I'm sorry, Dad. It all happened fast and I didn't know where you were. I didn't want to bother you, either."

"Elliot." Snape's tone made Harry look back up, a little blush on his face. "This is not a game. Whatever you overhear regarding Draco Malfoy and any of his foolish plans, I need to know about. And you will not rush in and try to save the day like a typical idiotic Gryffindor."

Harry frowned as he was admonished, feeling that stupid ball of shame in the pit of his stomach again.

"I just thought…" Harry started, before Snape banished the tea mug in Harry's hands.

"No, you didn't think." Snape interrupted, leaning forward. "Once again, you are the child here. It is not your job to always be the hero. And just because you've come to confess doesn't mean you'll get out of punishment, either."

"No, I didn't mean…I'm not trying to get out of trouble. I'm still getting used to this." Harry stuttered, folding his fingers together in his lap.

"Getting used to what?" Snape asked, barely managing not to scoff. "You've been in trouble more times than I care to count."

"That's what I mean. I've never felt guilty about it before."

Snape said nothing for a moment as he watched Harry, whose eyes were still downcast as he sat slumped in the chair. Harry then heard sharp footsteps as Snape approached him, and he was suddenly yanked up to his feet by a strong grip on his arms. Harry took a deep breath, knowing that he was in trouble, but also comforted by the fact that unlike his Uncle Vernon, Snape wouldn't strike out at him or shove him into a closet.

Instead of being punished though, Harry felt himself being roughly drawn against Snape, a strong and muscular arm across his shoulder blades.. Harry closed his eyes as his cheek brushed against the scratchy wool of Snape's overcoat, breathing in the scent of smoke, the cauldron cleaning solution they used in class, and the slightly damp smell of peat. Snape must have been out in the Forbidden Forest earlier, looking for ingredients.

"Foolish boy."

Harry felt hot breath on the top of his hair as Snape spoke in a low voice just above his head, giving him one small squeeze, and vanishing the guilt that had settled into his stomach.

"I never pictured you as a hugger." Harry mumbled against Snape, sniffing quietly.

"Indeed not." Snape sounded affronted. "This is merely a subtle attempt at strangling you."

Harry laughed and drew back, feeling better. Snape kept a strong grip on Harry's shoulder as he steered him out of the room. They walked past the kitchen and down a small hallway, where Snape lead Harry to a small three-piece bathroom. There was a pile of fresh towels on the sink and a brand new toothbrush, along with Harry's bathrobe from Spinner's End.

"You're staying here tonight, and taking a shower. The gunpowder in your hair is giving me a headache."

Harry padded out of the washroom fifteen minutes later, feeling relaxed and sleepy. He'd had time to think in the shower though, and had a few questions for Snape.

"Did you know it was me? I mean, the watch flashed, but I could have fallen down the stairs or something."

Snape didn't even look up from his magazine. "Yes, it warned me you were exposed to noxious fumes."

"Huh. What kind of spells are on this watch?" Harry asked, stalling his bedtime and checking out the slightly scratched watch face.

"I will ensure to inform you when you have children. Go to bed." Snape answered and pointed to the hall.

"How do you usually manage to catch students out? Do you have a tracking spell or something?" Harry stood by the doorframe, watching Snape add the magazine to the neat stack by his chair.

"I should ask the same of you, as it seems you are inexplicably skilled at avoiding my detection whilst out wandering." Snape sounded relaxed, but Harry wasn't fooled. He knew it was a false sort of relaxation, aimed to put down Harry's guard.

"On second thought, sir, it wouldn't be fair if I knew your methods and no other student did." Harry pointed out. Snape smiled as he looked at Harry, and Harry immediately felt suspicious.

"Ah, my fair little Gryffindor. Do keep in mind that while professors are not allowed to drug students with veritaserum, there is no such restriction for parents." Snape stood and walked to the fireplace, extinguishing the fire and darkening the living room.

Harry's eyes widened and he made a mental note to check the laws on veritaserum in the morning.

"Takes a month to brew thought, right? Harry asked quickly, "and Umbridge used your last bottle?"

"If you'd like to believe so." Snape answered calmly, retreating down the hall to his bedroom door. "Wake up call is at seven, do sleep well."

Harry stared at the bedroom door as it closed, wondering which personality of Snape's unbalanced Harry more. The angry and yelling version where Harry knew exactly what was going on, or this calm and collected version that had Harry very suspicious of what was coming.


	2. Chapter 2 Everyday Lessons

AN: WOW, thanks for the great response! You all ROCK. :D

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Ch 2 - Everyday Lessons

The quidditch season, though not officially started until November, drew large crowds and was part of the house rivalry background throughout the school year at Hogwarts. It was a rough, bloodthirsty sport and Harry thrived on it. However, he could not fathom for the life of him why Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, had decided that tryouts could be held at the same time for two teams on the quidditch pitch. There was that speech about sportsmanship and teamwork that had been made during the announcement, but Harry didn't believe a word of that. Not with the twinkling blue eyes that accompanied the scheduling of Gryffindor and Slytherin to share the pitch together, and the pure nasty looks that were directed at them from the Slytherin table. There would be no inter-team sportsmanship. There would probably just be blood.

Harry raised his empty mug mockingly to Malfoy and the Slytherin team, giving a not so subtle two-fingered salute. Neville, Seamus, and Dean plunked down across from him before he could see Malfoy's answer, but Harry didn't mind that much. He had a feeling the tryouts were going to be exhausting, as an unbelievable amount of Gryffindors were rumoured to be coming out. At least, if nothing, they'd hopefully end up with a good pick up game of quidditch after.

If Ron managed to keep his breakfast down, that was.

Hermione was giving Ron a rather sympathetic look from across the table as Harry calmly ate his porridge, ignoring the greasy bacon and instead wishing he had coffee to go along with his food. He only drank it in the mornings over the summer, but it had become habit and now that he was back at Hogwarts with its innocuous tea and innocent pumpkin juice he missed it like crazy. He wanted something strong in the morning dammit, something to kick-start himself with.

"Potter, have you resorted to having staring contests with crockery?" Snape's voice was recognizable anywhere, and the familiar sneer from over his shoulder made Harry jump. He turned and glared upwards at the amused look on Snape's face.

"It's more polite than staring at people while they eat, I reckon." Harry replied, holding onto his empty mug in a ridiculously protective way as he held Snape's gaze. In his peripheral vision he saw Hermione's eyes widen at his response, and something outrageously golden coming into view.

"Indeed. Good luck with the tryouts today Potter, though after your little jaunt at the ministry I daresay this task might be _boring_."

Harry had only a few seconds to reflect that Snape had said something eerily similar to him after Hallowe'en in his first year and wonder just what Snape knew about the tryouts that he didn't, when the yellowish object near him made itself known. Luna stood behind Ron looking like a burnt autumn coloured Egyptian queen, orange and gold shawl draped over her muggle jeans and jumper, with a large wooden lion head sitting impressively and sternly atop her head. The lion's face was deftly carved and was larger than Luna's own head, with the mane circling around and made of golden brown feathers.

As if enough of the students were not staring openly at Luna's bizarre outfit, she calmly reached up and stroked the cheek of the lion's face, causing it to issue a chest vibrating roar that echoed through the hall and scared the wits out of most who were eating. Ron's hands flew up at the sound, causing him to upend not only his pumpkin juice but to splash it and the full jug over three plates of breakfast goodies. Seamus and Dean dropped and shattered their mugs of tea and Hermione's fork clattered to her plate, echoed by many others in an unholy cacophony of noise. Behind Harry, Snape gave out an amused snort, and then whispered a spell before snapping his robes and stalking up to the staff table.

Harry felt his hands go warm and smiled to himself as his friends around him sopped up their spilled food, enjoying the coffee that had appeared in his mug.

"Shouldn't you be eating properly if you're going to be going for an allergy test tonight?" Hermione asked, looking annoyed with Harry for not jumping out of his skin with the roar of Luna's lion. Harry just shrugged.

"Do you like the lion, Harry? I thought it would bring some spirit to your team." Luna smiled dreamily, seemingly oblivious to the glares her hat was getting.

Harry took another sip of his coffee and smiled back.

"It's brilliant, Luna."

….

The damage wasn't too bad this time, Harry thought as he sat on the hospital bed and slowly swung his right leg back and forth. The left was a bit too sore to do that, but he was sure by Saturday it'd be fine. They'd won the no holds barred pick up game at least, and Crabbe had been suspended for using a cutting hex on Harry. Harry looked at his mangled left fingers and the deep gash that ran from his elbow to his shoulder. It was from an elementary scissor spell, if Harry had heard Hooch correctly, and even though it was meant to just act as a replacement for scissors it had done quite a bit of damage.

Madame Pomfrey finally entered back into the room, carrying Harry's file and shaking her head.

"Must you play such dangerous sports?" She admonished, pulling a small wheeled table and tray up to his side. Harry winced as she rolled up his sleeve and started to clean the wound.

"It's not my fault." Harry pointed out, thinking about the times he'd landed in the infirmary due to quidditch.

"Of course it isn't." Madame Pomfrey clucked, casting a sanitization spell over the wound.

Harry smiled when his tattoo came into view. Glamours didn't stand a chance against mediwitches.

"Is Professor…"

"He's dealing with Mr. Crabbe. I believe he will be along shortly." Madame Pomfrey answered, as she drew her wand along Harry's arm in a zig zag and watched as stitches formed. Not two minutes later the door opened and Snape walked in.

"When you are finished putting Humpty Dumpty back together, I require a word with him over his version of the events." Snape announced in a very bored voice.

He was standing beside the bed next to Harry, with his hands down by his side and his eyes intent on every move Madame Pomfrey made. He may have sounded like he'd been ordered to be there, but Harry could see the concern on his face and knew once they were safely in Snape's flat that he'd probably get another safety lecture.

"Hold out your arm, I need to take some blood for the allergy test." Harry winced but did as she said, feeling slightly light headed as he watched the blood spurt out from his arm into the vials. It was an interesting sight.

"You'll tell people I'm in for the night, right? And can't see anyone?" Harry asked, hoping Madame Pomfrey would cover for his absence.

"If you promise not to end up here again anytime soon." The mediwitch replied sternly, motioning him off the bed as she capped the samples.

"But I just love this place so much, it's so cheery and pleasant." Harry replied sweetly, snatching up his sweaty quidditch gear.

"Out, Mr. Snape. Out!" Pomfrey admonished, waving her wand at him. Harry scooted toward the front door, again feeling cheerful. Friday night and he had some time to relax at Snape's. What an odd thought that was, and Harry would have laughed outright at it three months earlier. He stopped at the door to wait for Snape.

"And you, Severus." Pomfrey started, though she stopped when Snape bowed slightly and mimed tipping his hat.

"Good evening, Madame."

He strode out the door at a quick pace, ignoring the clucking noise Pomfrey made behind him.

….

Snape pushed him onto the couch when they'd arrived back to the flat and shushed Harry's protests that he was fine, lighting fires in the sconces and fireplace before sitting down in his favourite wingback chair.

"The next time I allow you to play quidditch, we will disable the watch. I found the consistent warning to be rather tiresome." Snape started, taking his own watch off and dropping it on the side table next to the couch.

"Yeah, okay." Harry agreed, reclining on the couch and kicking off his shoes. "What do you mean the next time you allow me? I'm the quidditch captain!"

"You're also a walking magnet for trouble. It's almost as if you find Darwin's theory of evolution to be some sort of personal challenge." Snape eyed him carefully, before summoning a menu from the kitchenette. "Choose what you want for dinner, we'll order from the elves."

"Were you cheering for me at least? Or for the Slytherins?" Harry asked, opening the menu and checking out the soups. It had been a chilly day out, and after getting sweaty on the field and flying through the wind, Harry wanted something to warm him up.

"Don't be stupid." Snape said, spelling Harry's shoes to float over to the hallway. "I cheer for the bludgers."

Harry snorted and got up to go inspect the bookcases as Snape ordered dinner through the fireplace. Unlike at home, Snape's bookcases here were a bit more subdued with the subjects, and there didn't seem to be as many books. A few small knickknacks lined the shelves, most likely gifts from past graduating students as they all ran along the same theme of either potion work or Slytherin decoration, and there were a few framed photographs of Hogwarts grounds at sunset.

Something rather bright caught his attention and Harry tuned out Snape's argument with a house elf as he thumbed through a set of rather new books that was on a low shelf. There was no way Snape had bought these, Harry thought with a grin, and he picked up a garish orange one before turning around to face Snape.

"At the End of Your Rope, Dealing With Your Teen in the Trying Years." Harry had a smirk on his face as he read the title out, and almost laughed at the disgusted look on Snape's face.

"Your head of house fancies herself a comedian, and gifted me with several parenting books after our discussion on Tuesday."

"I could get you one of those Number 1 Dad coffee mugs, if you want, like the teacher one Professor Dumbledore has." Harry offered, keeping his voice sounding very innocent. He barely managed to avoid the tickling hex Snape sent his way and was saved by dinner's arrival. He put the book back on the shelf, giving a quick odd glance at another parenting book that was there and had a Dutch guilder price sticker on it.

….

At midnight Harry, under a disillusionment charm that made him seem similar to a ghost, left the flat with Snape and followed him through the dungeon halls as they made their way upstairs. It was rather chilly, and Harry couldn't help yawning as he walked.

"Stay awake. You're of no use to me asleep on your feet." Snape admonished, slowing his pace so Harry could keep up. They had no lantern with them, as Snape claimed that Harry's night vision would develop best without one and a light would limit how far they could see. Harry's shoes made scuffing sounds as he walked along the hall and he winced at the noise, wondering how Snape could move so quietly. He shifted his weight on his feet and was happy to find that it did make a small difference in the noise. As they walked, he tried different patterns in his step to alter the sound his feet made.

They entered the empty Great Hall and Harry stole up to the professors' table, slipping into Snape's spot with a grin. No wonder the man seemed to always know when something was up, he had a great view from this seat.

"And now the reason we are here." Snape announced in a silky tone, standing behind Harry and tapping his arm with his wand. He didn't say a word about Harry sitting down, which made Harry suspicious. "If you remember correctly, you have not been punished for your role in destroying a certain vial from my storeroom."

Harry felt the blood rush to his face as the memory of the mercury incident floated to his mind. Of course Snape had not forgotten. Harry had only hoped against hope that he had.

"Yes, sir."

"You will help patrol the corridors for miscreants every Friday night for three weeks." Snape said, his look daring Harry to disagree.

"Yes, sir." Harry answered, wondering how he'd managed to get away without cleaning anything.

"And we shall be making use of Lupin's map." Snape added, watching for Harry's response.

Oh.

Harry's forehead thunked softly on the table as he groaned and removed the parchment from his jumper pocked. Dobby had ever so helpfully reminded Harry to take the map that evening, so he could add Snape's place to it.

"So it is Lupin's handiwork." Snape muttered as he unfolded the parchment on the table.

"You didn't even know? You lied!" Harry blurted, snapping his head up. Snape waved him off.

"I hypothesised, there's a difference. Show me how the map works." Snape pointed with his wand, but didn't touch the parchment. Harry didn't either.

"You're bluffing to get information out of me. And this is…it was…it wasn't mine. I can't." Harry trailed off, staring at the map. Could he give up something of his father's, to Snape? To let Snape use it against the students?

"Elliot." Snape's voice cut through Harry's thoughts. "I am not confiscating the map. You are serving detention for endangering yourself and destroying property, and this map will aid you in your detention. Show me how it works."

Harry looked at Snape's unreadable face and took in what he didn't see. Snape didn't look victorious, and he didn't look like he was calculating something either. Slowly Harry took his wand out of his pocked and touched the map with it, taking a breath.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." They both watched as spidery ink seemed to leak from Harry's wand and build the castle by blueprint.

Snape was fascinated by the power of the magic and the amount of research gone into portraying the castle proper, including the shortcuts. Harry was surprised to find his label said Elliot Snape. Sure enough, he was marked off in the Great Hall, but the name Harry Potter was nowhere on the map. He'd have to make sure Ron and Hermione didn't see the map any time soon. Somewhere, Harry thought with a wry grin, his father and Sirius were having a heart attack.

"Does it detect invisibility cloaks?" Snape asked, looking like he was working out a puzzle.

"Yeah." Harry answered, watching Peeves bounce around the transfiguration room like a pinball. "And animagi and polyjuiced people," Harry mumbled, remembering Barty Crouch and Wormtail.

Snape had a wicked smile that curved his lips upward, one that showed he was inordinately pleased about something, and it didn't compliment his features at all. Harry distracted him by pointing out a little dot that had broken away from the hive of Hufflepuff dots in their dorm. They watched for a minute as the tag for Cassandra Morganson hesitantly made it's way towards the stairs. Snape pointed to another corner of the map where a Slytherin was lurking near the library doors on the fourth floor.

"Friday night, it starts." Snape murmured, collecting the map and motioning for Harry to follow. They exited the hall through the teacher's exit, and Harry kept quiet as they stole up a narrow and hidden staircase.

When they passed the third floor, Snape cast a muffliato spell over the two of them, which took Harry by surprise. "That's one of the spells from your potion book, isn't it?"

"My word, he actually does study." Snape responded dryly, holding back a tapestry and nodding at Harry to go through it.

"I needed something to read in History of Magic." Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"Your inadvertent efforts seem to be paying off, as at the last staff meeting I suffered silently through Horace Slughorn's half hour praising speech of your delightful potion instincts." Snape said, sounding like he was complaining.

Harry stopped dead and stared.

"Silently? As in, you didn't contradict him?"

"Why would I argue with Slughorn?" Snape replied with a bit of irritation, pulling out Harry's map and checking it again.

"You're proud of me." Harry said with a grin, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. Before Snape could deny it, however, Harry pointed down at the floor. They watched with interest as small grey chunks of stone shuffled in the shadows, moving like ants in a line against the wall. They were from marble to golf ball sized, and reminded Harry of the lemmings game that Dudley used to play on his computer.

Ignoring the two wandering students for the moment, whom according to the map had entered the library, Snape and Harry followed the little bits of rock as they made their way down the hall and away from the main fourth floor corridor. Once they'd gotten to the set of stairs that led directly down to the infirmary, Harry watched with wide eyes as the stones suddenly stopped and melted into the wall. It took all of thirty seconds, and with a second blink it became difficult to distinguish the lemming stones from the wall rock.

"What the hell was that?" Harry breathed, stepping forward and moving to touch the wall. Snape grabbed his hand first and prevented it, shaking his head.

"I'm amazed you never lost any fingers as a child." Snape muttered, waving his wand over the rock to test the magic that had animated the small parts.

"Let me see the map." Harry asked, ignoring Snape's remark. Snape handed it over distractedly, still studying the wall.

Harry poured over the Slytherin dorms highlighted in the map, rubbing his wand against the side of his head as he scanned the names. He smirked at a few of them, seemed that pureblood wizards were rather creative with the ridiculous names they chose for their children. Even though he also looked in the common room and washrooms, Harry couldn't see any tag for Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy's gone." Harry stated, catching Snape's attention again.

"He cannot be." Snape asserted, snatching the map back from Harry and scanning the dorms himself. Harry looked over his shoulder and scanned the fourth floor, where the stones had appeared. No Malfoy there either, which Harry found rather strange. The only thing out of place on the map was the secret passage behind one of the mirrors, the one Fred and George had told him had caved in a while ago and lead to an unknown shop in Hogsmeade. Snape suddenly straightened up and interrupted Harry's thoughts.

"Come. You have an hour left of detention and there are two errant students in the library."

…

The guest room bed was almost as comfortable as his bed at home in Stockport. Harry rolled over and cracked one eyelid slowly open, searching through the very dim room until it found the clock on the side table. Six oh seven am. Harry smiled to himself and burrowed deeper under the down comforter, enjoying the warmth in the cool dungeon air. He had just drifted back off to sleep, happy that it was a Saturday morning and his friends believed he was in the infirmary for an allergy test, when he heard a loud chirping sound. Harry's brain temporarily jammed, as he tried to figure out how a bird had managed to get into the dungeons and stake out his room. After not getting back from night patrol until one thirty in the morning, Harry was rather tired.

At quarter to seven am, the bird chirped again. Harry's messy head of hair lifted up from the white pillow and he groped blindly towards the nightstand for his wand, intent on hexing the hell out of the annoying creature. Three minutes of chirping later and Harry finally sat up, glaring at the small plastic bird he could finally see on the dresser. Snape's voice from the door nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Get up, before I turn that into a water bird."

Harry padded into the small kitchenette not long afterwards, wearing his flannel pyjama pants and an old t-shirt he'd found in the dresser the night before, a navy blue faded shirt that said ABERDEEN POTIONEER CONFERENCE '85. Snape watched from behind the Daily Prophet as Harry slumped into his chair, eyes half closed and yawning.

"You didn't think that I'd let you sleep in after doing hall patrol, did you?" Snape asked, sounding perfectly awake.

"Mmph." Harry mumbled back, pouring himself some cereal and managing to pour some coffee as well without spilling it on the table. He saw out off the corner of his eye that Snape had a list of things to do by his placemat that he was adding to, but Harry didn't care that much. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and glared down at the bowl of Rice Krispies that was crackling in the milk he'd just added.

"Shut up." Harry said slowly, giving his cereal a withering look.

Snape raised his eyebrow at the command, but didn't say anything.

After breakfast was done, Snape took up his list and cleared his throat for Harry's attention.

"What do you know of interest rates?" Snape asked, sounding casual and as if this were a normal every day breakfast conversation. Harry stared at him as if he were a martian.

"The goblins pay you to house your money in their bank, do you have any idea how much that is per annum?" Snape clarified, still looking expectantly at Harry, who this time managed a shrug.

"If you were suddenly thrust into the real world without a trust fund and the Weasleys to give you advice, could you find your own place and set your affairs correctly?" Snape asked slowly, flicking the top corner of the list with his finger.

"I can make a pot roast." Harry replied confidently.

Snape blinked.

"Aren't you supposed to help me with that though?" Harry asked, finding his train of thought even though his body was still complaining about the early bloody hour. "You know, help me out with growing up and stuff." Harry waved his hand a little, feeling silly and inarticulate.

"And stuff." Snape repeated, rolling his eyes. "We shall begin with home finances and basic housing information. Taxes are in the spring, and we'll focus on those then. And as much as you may enjoy your pot roast, I do believe some nutrition lessons would not go amiss." Snape frowned, looking over Harry's scrawny form.

"Sounds good, Dad." Harry smiled, feeling happier than he had been when he'd gotten out of bed. Finally someone was sitting him down and teaching him something useful for life.

Snape checked his watch and summoned a house elf for more coffee.

"Get one of the note scrolls on my desk, Elliot. We'll start with a home budget today, and you can go back to your friends after lunch."

….

Snape sighed and rubbed his wrist distractedly as the headmaster spoke. Order meetings were usually not held at Hogwarts, and certainly not with only Snape and McGonagall present, but with the unusually pleasant weather gracing their area, a weekend trip to Hogsmeade had been suggested for the students. It was only Wednesday, but as a chaperone schedule needed to be worked out, they needed a few days to plan.

"Bee in your bonnet, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, looking amused.

"Hardly. Though I must go and speak with Madame Pomfrey later, now that I remember." Snape replied, pulling a small notepad from his pocket and tapping it with his wand, to remember the note.

One of the portraits from Grimmauld's place caught the headmaster's attention for the moment and Minerva leaned over to speak softly.

"Are you all right? You do look worn and you keep rubbing your wrist."

Snape glared, but only for a millisecond.

"Do you know how often that blasted boy is put into a dangerous situation? In potions class, last time it was a spill that nearly scalded him, but there are also a few students whom seem to take delight in throwing caustic and explosive additions towards his cauldron, like mentally unbalanced monkeys. And we shall not speak of that farce of a quidditch match that happened last week."

Snape was very grateful to note that McGonagall held back from giving him a I told you so smirk.

"He's a lad, Severus, they all get into things at that age," she replied, sounding like she'd been there before.

"I never did." Snape huffed, knowing it was a lie, though the difference was that his parents hadn't seemed to care either way.

"Oh no? Must be a different foolish young man that took a tattoo…" Minerva had the gall to look amused as she said this.

"Nobody asked you." Snape interrupted, crossing his arms and keeping the left one shielded inward to his chest. It was hard sometimes not to fall into the childish student role with her, as she'd been one of his kinder teachers at Hogwarts. Especially since McGonagall realised this and still acted motherly to him on rare occasions. And like all mothers, she knew when to change the subject.

"How are you monitoring him? I can't imagine he'd be pleased knowing he was being watched."

Snape pulled back his sleeve and displayed his simple and elegant black watch.

"He knows he's being monitored for danger, at least until Voldemort is destroyed." Snape closed his eyes as the headmaster argued about the best sweet shop in London with Phineas. "I may have neglected to mention the spell is one parents use when toddlers are learning how to walk."

Snape opened his eyes again when Minerva patted his arm with a friendly smile.

"He's a lucky boy and you'll survive. This Saturday shall I send him down again? He seems to sleep better when staying over."

"That will be fine." Snape nodded. "I'm sure he can think of an excuse for his friends."

"He will have to tell Weasley and Granger at some point." McGonagall noted.

"The restriction is only in place until Elliot believes they are ready to hear it." Snape answered, wiping the watch face with his sleeve.

"Elliot? That reminds me, I'd love to hear your version of how Harry managed to sweeten information out of Amy Benson." This time there was a teasing glint in her eyes, and Snape ignored her completely.

….

Harry stood outside the headmaster's door for a few minutes, early and a bit eager to hear about the lessons Dumbledore planned. The office door opened and Harry was slightly surprised to see McGonagall and Snape exit, but he smiled politely and gave Snape a small grin.

"What have you done now?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes.

Harry pretended to look insulted.

Dumbledore waved Harry in and offered him tea, which Harry declined partially out of lack of thirst, and partially out of suspicion. He was fairly certain Dumbledore would never spike his drink with calming draught, but in all honesty, Harry had smashed the man's office to bits the last time he'd been in there and he'd been around Snape long enough to spark that bit of paranoia.

No further tea was offered though, and Harry listened intently as Dumbledore highlighted the troubles of young Tom Riddle's life. Upon seeing the dreary orphanage that Riddle grew up in, Harry once again pondered which had been the worst childhood. Riddle had no idea who his parents were, whereas Harry had lived with the constant reminder that someone had once loved him, while the rest of his family didn't.

After an hour and a half of listening the speech about Riddle's sadistic tendencies and his inclination for collecting souvenirs, Harry stood to bid goodnight. There was a lot of information swimming around in his head, and he knew that Snape would be peppering him with questions on the weekend. Harry made it to the door before pausing with his hand on the handle and turning to face the headmaster.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened to your hand, sir?"

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look.

"Now's not the time, I suppose." Dumbledore was smiling, but Harry felt annoyed.

"Not many months left for the right time." Harry shrugged, taking enough of a pause to note he'd unsettled the Headmaster before saying goodnight and taking his leave.

…..

"So you don't actually have detention tonight." Ron said, his face betraying his confusion. They were walking across the front field back from Hagrid's hut, where they'd had afternoon tea and avoided the rock cakes.

"No. It just looks like I do." Harry replied, kicking some stones ahead of him. He'd been distracted all day, deep in thought about eleven year old Voldemort. He'd looked eerily similar to how they'd all appeared on their first day at Hogwarts.

"Like the remedial potions last year." Ron supplied, a look of horror taking over. "You're not studying occlumency again, are you? Dumbledore would have to be daft to force that on you again."

"Unfortunately, as long as Voldemort has a connection to my head, it's something I need to learn." Harry replied.

"I can't believe I was ever jealous of you." Ron remarked, shuddering visibly. Harry smacked him lightly on the arm. "Is the greasy git being a little nicer to you this time round at least?"

Harry ignored the name-calling and focused on giving a neutral answer, without disabusing Ron of his assumption that the time was spent doing occlumency.

"He is, actually. This time he's actually managed to teach me a little, too." Harry shrugged, squinting as he got used to the darker light in the castle.

"Don't tell Hermione that, soon she'll actually pushing us to get along with Snape." Ron countered.

They stopped off in the Great Hall to allow Ron and Harry to nab some food. Harry because he'd be in 'detention' with Snape, and Ron because he was meeting up with Hermione. It had only taken Ron fifteen minutes of stuttering before Harry finally understood that Ron was taking Hermione on a sort of non-date in the room of requirement. Harry pushed aside his slight feeling of jealousy and clapped Ron on the back, wishing him good luck as they parted ways. Ron climbed the stairs to the seventh floor with an excited blush on his face, and Harry walked determinedly to the dungeons and Snape's office, more than ready to unload the lesson from the night before and hear Snape's theories regarding it.


	3. Chapter 3 Bargins and Bad Dreams

AN: I could not think of a title for this chapter for the life of me. Thanks to PPOD for the help in characterization for one bit, and thanks to all of you who are reading! :D

* * *

Ch 3 - Bargins and Bad Dreams

…

Harry waited inside the door to Snape's office as Snape finished his last bit of paperwork for the evening. Harry kept his mouth shut, knowing that Snape wanted to keep his full concentration on his task. Instead, Harry stared around the classroom, finally looking up above his head and snickering when he saw little bits of dried cockroach guts on the stone above the doorway.

"I don't know what you're thinking about, but stop it." Snape's deep voice cut into Harry's smirk. Snape stood and shuffled his papers, before dropping them in a drawer and warding it shut. He cast what Harry thought was a monitoring spell on the room, and waved Harry towards the desk.

Harry slowly walked over to the alcove-sized window to the left of Snape's desk, the same style window as the others in the room. Snape was pointing him to it, and Harry barely had a chance to notice that the image projected in the glass seemed slightly fabricated before he felt a strong hand on his back and he was shoved through the window. Harry grimaced automatically as he braced for impact, but as with the barrier at King's Cross, was pleased to find open space on the other side. Snape's dreary front hallway, to be more precise.

A small pensieve was on the kitchenette table and Snape showed Harry how to remove the memory of Dumbledore's lesson. Harry dumped it into the pensieve and looked a bit apprehensively at Snape, as he wasn't quite sure if he'd done it properly.

"Watch and learn." Snape said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Mr. Potter, may I enter your memory?"

Harry flushed with embarrassment and had a strange urge to smack Snape's arm.

They landed at the back of Dumbledore's office, by the door, and Harry was once again taken back by the strange third person view of the memory. Watching the discussion through once, Harry found Snape's facial reactions to be rather interesting as he heard the information about young Voldemort's life. From what Harry could tell, Snape had not been privy to any of this before. At the end of the memory, Snape stopped Harry from leaving and waited for it to start again.

"Forget about the conversation this time." Snape commanded. "Focus on the room, and the headmaster's body language."

Harry stared around the room as his memory self chatted with Dumbledore, noting the strange twirling objects that the headmaster kept around him. Snape seemed to be studying the office himself, perhaps comparing it to the last time he was in there. Harry stopped by the desk, close to where Fawkes was perched, and catalogued the items there.

"That diary, that's Riddle's diary that I destroyed in second year." Harry said, staring at the charred and ink stained book on the desk.

"Are you sure?" Snape asked, pausing by the far bookcase.

"Tom Riddle came out of the bloody book and set a basilisk on me. I'm quite sure it's that one." Harry swore that after living with Snape over the summer, his eye roll was damn near perfect.

Snape merely conceded the point with a nod of his head, and moved closer to the desk.

"This ring was not cracked when I inspected it in July." Snape pointed out, mostly to himself.

Harry thought about that with a frown, and he moved his hand over the desk, hesitating over an old brass house key that sat by Dumbledore's inkwell, one that looked like it belonged to an old manor house. It was old and ornate, tarnished with what seemed to be long dried blood, and a soiled black ribbon was tied to the top of the key. The ribbon had a small crease mark in it, likely from where it had been hung up on a nail or hook for a long period of time. Underneath the key was a faded black and white photo of a boarded up old mansion, surrounded by tall and wild grass, which looked rather creepy and haunted. The windows were completely dark and partially shuttered, the high slanted roof tiles looked half disintegrated, and the only sign that it was a wizarding photo was the small crow that flew from the rafters of the front porch to a gathering of stones in a small field in the distant left background, an area that Harry recognised immediately. Riddle House.

"Is he playing some sort of twisted treasure hunt game?" Harry asked, shaking his head. There was a strange pulsing feeling from the key, and he didn't like it.

"So it would seem." Snape replied in a guarded tone, as they were yanked upward and out of the memory.

….

On Thursdays all three lucked out enough to have one free period in the afternoon after lunch, and at the end of September Harry convinced Ron and Hermione to walk with him to the fourth floor to check out if the stones were on the move again. Both he and Snape had noted them a few times, at odd times of the day, and Harry was convinced that it had something to do with Malfoy, as Malfoy had never shown up on the Marauder's map when the stones were on the move.

"Muffliato." Harry cast, as they passed the stairs by the infirmary. Hermione paused at the slightly distorted sound from around them.

"Where'd you learn that spell, Harry? In the Prince's book again?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. She'd been suspicious of Harry's book ever since he'd started using Snape's scribbled notes in it, and actually finding that he understood the theory of potions that way. Sort of, at least he didn't need Hermione's help anymore and did as well or better than her in class. Harry was well aware that he'd never be the genius that Snape was at modifying and creating potions, but at least he could follow instructions. Ron had been grateful for the tips as well, but Hermione hadn't stopped nagging Harry about using the dangers of an anointed book until he'd vaguely told her that it used to belong to a family member, and insinuated that he'd found a bunch of heirlooms in the Potter family vault. Neither point was strictly connected to the other, but Harry didn't clarify that.

"Yeah, but Snape's used it before. It's safe." Harry said, leading them over to the section of wall where he'd last seen the stones melt in.

"I wouldn't count what Snape uses to be a measure of how safe it is." Ron snorted, toeing the wall.

"Yes, but Harry went on the order task this summer with Snape, didn't he?" Hermione replied, staring right at Harry. Ron looked up with an inquiring look.

"I hate it when you do that, Hermione." Harry smiled.

"It was pretty obvious, Harry. How else would you know that Malfoy became a death eater, or who that werewolf in Diagon Alley was?" Hermione probed, speaking in the excited tone she took when she was sure she'd figured something out. "And you're still working with him now, aren't you?"

"You could call it that. I got in trouble for that mercury explosion and he's made me do night patrol with him the past two weeks." Harry replied, drawing his wand and casting a tracing spell on the stones. Nothing unordinary stood out about them.

"Doesn't that just teach you how to avoid him in the future?" Ron asked, a bit confused.

"Harry, that's brilliant." Hermione interrupted. "You're in detention, but he's teaching you how to sneak around properly, for when you need to against Voldemort."

"He gave me the lock picking kit, too." Harry grinned, amused at the shocked look on Ron's face. "Anyway. The stones. The first time I saw them they melted into the wall here. But they came from the direction of the library, and they seemed to move along the wall like lemmings. It was really strange to see."

"Almost like a relocation spell." Hermione mused, looking rather thoughtful. "But you cannot just conjure stones to walk about the castle; you can't just create matter. They'd have to come from somewhere."

"You still think this has something to do with Malfoy?" Ron asked, with a calculating look. It was the chess look, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Hermione's interested impression. Apparently she liked when Ron used his brains. "If he's trying to attempt something big, he'd probably want back up, right? And what's on the fourth floor, but another passage to Hogsmeade."

"And that one is caved in…" Harry nearly smacked himself. "Of course, the passage would have to be cleared, and what better place to hide a few extra rocks and stones than in a stone castle?"

They didn't get much chance to discuss their discovery before Harry cancelled the muffliato spell and stood straight, with his shoulders square.

"How gross. Potty, the Weasel, and the Mudblood having a little _ménage à trois_ at the wall. Better call in a house elf to clean the germs away." Malfoy said, laughing at his own joke. Crabbe and Goyle joined in thirty seconds too late for their comprehension to be believable.

"Malfoy. My condolences for your family. All that money and can't even buy dignity, such a shame." Harry replied evenly, not backing down.

Malfoy's face went white and his lips pursed angrily.

"You think you're so tough and protected because you're Dumbledore's little pet. That won't last long, Potter, mark my words. And you'll pay then." Malfoy hissed, before spinning and stalking off in the direction of the transfiguration corridor, with overly exaggerated drama.

"He's rather like a pygmy puff, if you think about it. One nasty comment and he puffs out, all flustered. Sad, really." Hermione pondered, no doubt remembering when she'd punched Malfoy, as she was flexing her fingers.

"Snape teaching you how to insult people too?" Ron asked with amusement, as they started to head towards Gryffindor tower. "Can't imagine that was a fun summer trip. You finally get to go on vacation, to Amsterdam off all places, and you have to go with him."

"Actually, he wasn't bad. Taught me a few things about how to get information from people." Harry grinned.

"Right." Ron laughed. "He's a regular Jimmy Bond, getting all the girls on the side too."

This time Hermione and Harry both snickered as Hermione corrected Ron. "It's James Bond, Ron. And Harry, was he like that? What's he like outside of Hogwarts?"

Harry thought about the summer. Snape was still the same strict and imposing man outside of school, but he was a bit more relaxed and he did have a hidden softer side. How could Harry explain that Snape had punished him not out of malice but because he'd endangered himself? Snape had given him a warm bed, his own room, plenty of food, and had even comforted him when he cried over losing Sirius.

"He was very human." Harry replied. They walked in silence for a few moments, passing some older students skiving off class.

"I had to pretend to be someone else for the task, it was kind of fun. Having another identity where no one knew me as the boy who lived." Harry said lightly, again rubbing the side of his head with his wand.

"Mate, you're my best friend, but if you tell me you're Spiderman I will probably kill you." Ron suddenly stated, sounding very serious but trying not to laugh.

"Ron, I'm not Spiderman." Harry reported mock solemnly. After a pause, he clarified further. "I'm not Superman either. I'm just the Chosen One."

Hermione smacked him with her bag.

….

On the way back to their last class of the day, Hagrid called up to Harry from the front entrance way. He had two pieces of wood in his hands and a small wrapped bundle of what looked like sandwiches left over from lunch. Though it was raining outside, Hagrid had his patched cloak over his shoulder and his thick rubber boots on, making Harry suspect that he was going to visit Grawp.

"Hi Hagrid." Harry greeted, wincing a little when Hagrid clapped him on the back.

"Hey there, Harry. Got a favour to ask of yeh."

Harry nodded and watched as Hagrid pulled random and interesting bits and bobs out of his pockets before finally withdrawing a dull orange chunk of what looked like copper. He handed it over and Harry ran his fingers over the grooves.

"I'm no good at carvin' small things, yeh see, and Professor Snape told me that yer right skilled."

"I'm well…not really. I just did something in wood for fun." Harry stuttered, taken back by the compliment Snape had made.

"I know. I reckon yeh'll do just as good for this." Hagrid replied, waving his hand. He took back the chunk of metal and to Harry's widened eyes, rolled it between his hands until it was warm and pliable. He then pulled a small, small for Hagrid anyway, knife from his pocket and neatly cut the metal chunk in two separate chess piece sized bits.

"It's Madame Maxime's birthday in late November. I thought it'd be nice to send her a little something." Hagrid leaned in and blushed, though his whisper was anything but quiet.

"So you want me to carve something, out of the metal?" Harry clarified, wondering what he could make with them, and if he could even do anything in three dimension.

"Them winged horses she likes so much, that's what I was thinking meself. Make some earrin's out of 'em." Hagrid said, scratching his beard as a slightly dreamy look drew across his eyes.

"Sure, Hagrid. I'll do my best." Harry popped the metal into his bag, realising that he had only a few minutes to run to his charms class. Hagrid waved as Harry took off.

….

This time when Harry knocked on Snape's unassuming wooden door there was no answer. Dobby hadn't brought him down, he'd been able to remember the way himself, but it didn't seem like Snape was there. Strange, as Snape had told him to arrive at seven, straight up. Harry checked his watch, noting that it was the plain black face that stared back at him, and not the alert red one. He knocked on the door again, shifting his bag of extra clothes, but again there was no response.

_Poor little lost boy. Come for a good night story?_

Harry glared at the snake that was now resting in the top door hinge.

"Is he home?" Harry hissed back, trying to look stern and meaning business.

_Tsk, no manners Mr. Snape. My day was lovely indeed, thank you for asking._

Harry glared at the snake this time, muttering in parseltongue. Great. Either Snape was detained and he was locked out in Slytherin territory without his invisibility cloak, or Snape was there and expected him to figure out his own way into the flat.

"Git." Harry said under his breath, putting his hand to the door. It felt warm under his touch, which strengthened Harry's suspicion that his dad was home. And not answering the bloody door. Unless…

Harry gave a quick glance both ways down the hall before leaning in towards the door.

"Down at Fraggle Rock."

The door clicked audibly as if a key had been placed in and turned. Harry ignored the snake's jib about his singing skills and slipped into the front hallway, ensuring to shut the door firmly behind him.

"Figured out the password, did you?" Snape was sitting in his easy chair, a glass of wine beside him and the radio on. Harry was surprised to hear modern muggle music playing.

"Good evening to you too, sir." Harry grumbled, kicking his shoes off by the door, dropping his bag, and walking into the kitchenette to get a drink.

"Don't eat anything yet, I need your blood." Snape rose out of his chair and Harry blinked.

"I have no idea why people call you a vampire." Harry deadpanned, setting his water glass down on the counter.

Snape shot him a bored look and drew the blood samples with quick precision, before nodding at the water. As he healed Harry's arm, he ran his thumb down the scar left over from the incident in the graveyard. Nearer to Harry's wrist it crisscrossed with the basilisk's puncture mark, the very faded white spot that even Fawkes' tears hadn't healed. Harry watched the thumb and shivered at the light touch, before offering his palm up for scrutiny, the cursive words still etched in his skin.

"Even Gryffindors aren't unmarked." Harry said, in a low voice that made it seem he was talking more to himself.

"So it seems." Snape dropped his hand and pulled a vial from the fridge, one that Harry recognised from the summer. "I wish to test some healing potions, and you will need to be a child for the tests."

Harry glanced at the vial and tried to keep his face impassive. Being a six year old over the summer had had its drawbacks, and Harry had had some problems dealing with the simple yet startlingly strong emotions that he experienced on a much faster and exaggerated pace than he did as a sixteen year old. However, he'd also been able to give in a little more to some of his more basic desires, and Snape had not once really chastised him for playing exuberantly, laughing at silly things, or needing a hug or two. Harry was to spend the night in the dungeons, mostly doing homework and keeping out of trouble, but if he played his cards right he could maybe spend the time sitting with Snape on the couch and looking over some of the old books the man had. Snape didn't need to know that Harry looked forward to something like that.

"How old?"

"Six again. I will re-age you in the morning after I have run some tests." Snape answered, unstoppering the vial.

"Alright. But again I'm not fully responsible for how I act." Harry took the vial and drank it back, grimacing at the taste. He sat down in the chair and braced for the change.

….

Snape spent an hour poking, prodding, measuring, and taking the temperature of Harry, standing him up on the desk in his home office in a pair of small transfigured black shorts and a white tank top. Snape had cast a small warming charm on the room to keep it a tolerable temperature, and had started taking notes in a rather large green folder that he'd pulled from a locked filing cabinet. It was a thick file and Harry skimmed through it while Snape waited for the blood results to come back. Harry was surprised to find that the file contained almost his full life's records in it There was a section from his primary school in Little Whinging, a copy of his inadequately small medical history, dentist information, school report cards, a few small muggle photographs from when he was much younger, and a few sheets of account summaries from Gringotts. At the top of the folder was more recent information, including the adoption papers, his passport, the allergy tests results that had come back clean, and a record of his admission to the hospital in Stockport. It seemed Snape had been very thorough while collecting information.

The blood test came back a lilac purple colour, which had no significance to Harry whatsoever, but seemed to satisfy Snape. He declared the testing done for the evening, and Harry put his resized clothes back on before leaving the tiny office for the rectangular living room again. The fire was still going strong, and the radio had switched to a station that played half muggle music and half wizard. Like most of the few rooms in Snape's flat, the living room was narrow and long, furnished to the point that it was cosy but not crowded. Harry figured that Snape did not like wide, open spaces, and he could see the logic in that. Small and well-planned spaces gave more a sense of obscurity and comfort than an exposed and sparsely filled room.

Four badly lost games of cribbage later, and after a mug and a half of hot chocolate, Harry draped himself on the couch and tried to stay awake. It was only nine thirty, but the smaller body was making him feel very tired and the night before Gryffindor had had a rather draining quidditch practise. Not long after stretching out on the couch, a charm sounded near the fireplace and Snape rose to answer the call. The chesterfield Harry was laying on was off to the side of the fireplace, so Snape just put a blanket over Harry to keep him out of sight. The last thing Harry heard was McGonagall saying hello.

What felt like only seconds later, but was actually closer to an hour, Harry felt the blanket shifting from him. He was suddenly a lot colder than he had just been, and his head felt very fuzzy from his half awake state. Snape was blurry when he opened his eyes, and Harry groaned a little in a plea to be left where he was under the blanket. He didn't care about going to bed, he just wanted to stay put and go right back to sleep.

"Nngh. 'm sleepy." Harry raised small hands up, his eyes closed again, towards Snape.

"You don't fool me one bit, you little snot." Snape said, leaning over and hauling Harry up into his arms with practised movement. He hugged Harry close and Harry locked his hands behind Snape's hair.

"You smell like snail guts." Harry murmured, his head resting in the crook of Snape's neck.

"Indeed, the essence of boy. Slugs and snails and puppy dog tails." Snape said, nudging the door to Harry's room open the his foot.

"Dun like dogs." Harry whispered as Snape lay him down on the bed. Harry vaguely heard drawers opening and then whimpered a little as the air got much colder. Snape had removed his jumper and dress shirt to put an old shrunken t shirt on him, and slipped his trousers off to exchange them for pyjama pants. His feet were gently lifted and the socks removed, one deep blue and one black striped, and finally Harry was tucked into the warm bed.

Snape seemed to take a moment to look as he pulled back Harry's sleeves, and then tucked his tiny arms under the covers. Harry's moppy hair was brushed back from his forehead, and a calloused dry hand gently cupped Harry's cheek.

"Not all affection need be bargained for, little Slytherin." Snape said, barely audible. He left the room and closed the door most, but not all, of the way.

…..

Harry woke with a start in the middle of the night, breathing wildly and shivering like he'd been left out in the cold. He'd not had a nightmare in a while, and though this one was refreshingly Voldemort free, Harry still felt deeply unsettled. The fake window in the room allowed a blue tinge of moonlight to cast creepy shadows in the crevices of the stone, something that Harry couldn't help staring at. A small popping sound suddenly echoed by the foot of Harry's bed and he jumped back towards the headboard onto all fours with a yelp, brandishing the wand that was now longer than his forearm.

"Is Master Harry okay, sir? Dobby is checking up when Master Harry has bad dreams." Dobby appeared from the shadows, wringing his hands and looking worried.

"I'm….I'm fine Dobby. Just a little scared, that's all." Harry replied, slowly letting the tension out of his taut limbs.

"Dobby will tell Master Snape that Master Harry is awake." Dobby said, nodding his head but still managing to keep eye contact.

"No! No it's okay, Dobby. You don't need to wake him, I'll be fine." Harry pleaded, crawling back under the covers and trying to get ready to go back to sleep.

"Master Snape asked to be told, Harry Potter sir. He can't hear through the dungeon walls." Dobby tried to explain, looking unsure and a bit upset. Before Harry could ask anything else, a deep voice from the shadow of the doorway spoke up.

"Thank you Dobby, you may go."

Snape was leaning partially against the wall, with his hair draping forward and partially covering his face. He was wearing the same red gown from the summer, but this time he had a black house robe wrapped around him and a pair of black pyjama pants on as well. The dungeons were much colder than Spinner's End. He walked into the room and sat down on the bed, sitting beside Harry. In his hand he held the jar of cream he'd used over the summer when Harry had had his last nightmare.

"I didn't mean to wake you." Harry mumbled, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping this arms around them as he sat up. He'd managed to not have any nightmares in the past few weeks that he'd been back at Hogwarts, though a combination of occlumency before bed and sheer fatigue from running around with classes, quidditch, and his friends.

"You did not. It's not quite one yet, and I was reading." Snape watched as Harry appeared to be hugging himself, his head tucked down on the top of his knees as he sat, staring at the bed covers.

"Dad? Do you ever have bad dreams?" Harry suddenly asked, looking up and making eye contact.

Snape motioned for Harry to lie back down as he thought about that, thought about the guilt he felt when Lily visited him in his dreams, when he had flashbacks of Lupin in the Shrieking shack, the horrors of what the death eaters had done, and more recently of a boy with brilliant green eyes lost in the darkness of Amsterdam.

"Just memories." Snape shook his head. He opened the jar and dipped his fingers into the cool cream, waiting until Harry had rolled onto his side and was facing Snape. The cream was massaged again into Harry's forehead and on the back of his neck, where he grinned as it slightly tickled.

"That's really cold." Harry said, slightly smiling.

"It's intended to be." Snape replied, all knowingly. He pulled the blankets up over Harry, but remained seated beside the boy and put a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder.

"What is that, anyway? It worked really well in the summer."

Snape handed him the jar, which had a few ingredients scribbled on the label.

"It's a prototype. What did you feel it do?" Snape slowly rubbed circles on Harry's back and shoulder.

"I felt clouds." Harry said, in a serious voice. His eyes were getting heavy though, and he felt rather snug trapped under the blankets.

"White clouds?" Snape asked, watching Harry's eyes droop closed.

"Blue ones." Harry confirmed, yawning a little. "Prototype for what?"

"For your visions last year. I was not allowed to give it, however." Snape answered, watching Harry. He checked his watch at the same time, to see how long this dose would take to start working. The best way to test that would be to see how coherent the boy still was.

"One question I've had in my mind awhile, Elliot. How did you manage to defeat the troll in your first year?" Snape asked, only partially curious to hear the answer.

"Jammed my wand up its nose." Harry answered happily. "I jumped on his back, he was tall and smelly, and the wand went up his nose. Ron knocked him out."

"You jammed a wand up the nose of a twelve foot tall troll." Snape deadpanned, staring at the undersized child lying on the bed.

"Uh. Yeah. Don't do that. You can't clean it properly afterwards, and it had bogies on it. I tried scourgify, but that doesn't work on your wand and if you put it on the table and try to say it again and again it just takes the varnish off the table and then McGonagall gets mad at you." Harry blabbered, before blinking his eyes slowly open. "What?"

Snape smirked at Harry as he pictured that scenario. The potion had definitely taken effect.

"Mr. Potter, had I known you were this amusing, I would have given you the prototype anyway."

Snape stood up and took back the jar, slipping it into the pocket of his robes. He walked over to the window and pulled the blinds shut, so the room would be dark without any strange shadows.

"Dad." Harry mumbled into his pillow, eyes closed again.

"Mmm?" Snape asked, making his way to the door.

"C'n I call you Daddy? Be funny in the great hall one day." Harry was still lying curled up on his side, but his arms were loose up by his face. Snape wondered how such a contortioned sleeping position could be comfortable.

"Ah, Elliot Fyodor," Snape said in a silkily sweet voice, "if you ever do that I will ensure to string you up to the rafters by your toes." Snape left the room with a small smile on his face as Harry snorted into his pillow.


	4. Chapter 4 Clicking into Place

AN: Ahaha. The Angst starts. It's not really that bad tho, but anyway. Cheers to you all!

* * *

Ch 4 - Clicking Into Place

Monday night dinner was Ron's favourite pot roast, and while he ate with his regular gusto, Harry noticed that he seemed to be rather preoccupied by something, while Hermione was rather excited. A few post owls straggled in as the plates refilled themselves with second helpings, and the trio watched as a large brown owl made its way to the staff table and land in front of Snape.

"Well Ronald, if you'd bothered to study with me some evenings instead of stare off into space all the time, you wouldn't need to be so worried about your marks." Hermione rolled her eyes and set aside her cutlery. Harry glanced up and saw Snape give the owl some chunks of roast as he accepted the scroll.

"You're lucky Harry, the Dursleys don't care what your marks are." Ron pouted, moving his plate for dessert.

"Mmmh." Harry nodded around a mouth of mashed potato, which he almost spat out when he realized what the owl had delivered.

"I wonder what Snape got in the mail." Hermione pondered, her eyes on the staff table. "He looks rather pleased, whatever it is."

Harry's cheeks flushed a rather warm shade of red, knowing that Snape had just read his report card. He felt foolishly proud that Snape was sitting in the Great Hall, calm and collected while he checked his son's grades.

"Looks like a school owl. Could you imagine if someone's report card was sent home to _Snape_?" Ron smirked, snatching the first of the butter tarts that appeared in the center of the table.

Harry leaned towards Hermione and spoke in a loud stage whisper. "Studying is not the problem. The problem is that Ron studies you, and not the material."

…..

At nine pm the only people still wandering about in the hallways on the fourth floor were the upper students who were just leaving the library, or slipping in for one more book before it closed for the evening. Midterms may have ended not a week before, but essays were piling up by the day. Harry led his friends as they walked past a gargoyle who seemed to have allergies, as it kept sniffling loudly every few minutes. Harry had his invisibility cloak hidden under his robes in case they stayed out past curfew, but as it was a Tuesday, they hoped that they wouldn't be out too late. After all, most students were caught out of curfew on the weekend nights.

Harry withdrew his map and activated it as they edged closer to the grouping of mirrors and portraits where the passageway was. Ron and Hermione kept a nonchalant look out to see if any other students were headed their way while Harry stepped up to an old mirror in an ornate but slightly tarnished silver frame. Around the edges of the mirror had built up residue, causing the reflection at this part to become slightly blurred. Harry took a look at his map again before tapping his wand on the mirror.

"Through the looking glass." Harry murmured, stepping back as the mirror shimmered and became a window. Behind it was a jumbled mass of rock, and Harry was only slightly surprised to find that his hand went through the glass when he went to touch it. All three quickly stepped through, before anyone could notice how it had opened.

Inside the passageway was remarkably colder than the air in the castle hallway, and there was rubble scattered about the rather large opening. Harry noted that the fallen rock here seemed to be the same shade and type of rock that he'd seen wandering through the castle on a few occasions now. The only problem was that the passage was still completely blocked. It looked like no one had been in there in a few years, not since the twins had discovered its destruction.

"I don't think Malfoy's doing anything in here." Ron said, poking at the blockage with his wand.

"Not unless he's covered his work up with a glamour or something." Harry replied, studying the wall with a frown.

"Has Malfoy actually been coming here? After all, the map told you how to get in." Hermione pointed out.

"Let me look at the map, I'll see if Malfoy's skulking around." Ron said, taking the offered map from Harry and starting to scan it.

"True, but from what we heard from Diagon Alley, Malfoy's planning something he needs to be delivered here. And he mentioned a chalice to that Greyback bloke, maybe he's bringing in poison." Harry wondered, trying to remember what else they'd overheard in Diagon Alley.

"Ron?" Hermione's voice broke through, sounding concerned and uncertain. Harry looked up to see Ron staring at him, his face pale but his eyes flashing.

"Who are you?" Ron growled in a low voice, glaring directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes flicked down to Ron's hands, which were clenched around the Marauder's map. Realisation sunk in and colour drained from Harry's face.

"It's not what you think." Harry blurted, holding up his hands in a useless effort to placate Ron.

"Who the hell are you?" Ron snarled, shoving the map towards Hermione. "Snape? Are you polyjuiced? Have you been spying on us?"

"What? Don't be a prat, Ron." Harry choked, taken back by the accusation. "My legal name changed, that's all."

"Right, and you think I'm stupid enough to believe that my best friend would become a Snape." Ron scoffed, stepping forward and shoving Harry.

"I _am_ your best friend! Who else would know that you sleep with a one eared stuffed bunny and that you have wank magazines hidden in the broken bookshelf in your room at the Burrow?" Harry demanded, his face going hot with anger. "You're terrified of spiders, you have Chudley Cannon underpants, you drool when you sleep in Divination, and you want to become a kid's book author more than being an auror!"

"That doesn't prove anything! _My_ best friend would have told me that he'd changed his name to Elliot Bloody Snape!" Ron yelled back, face burning red. He was standing closer to Harry, and they were both puffing their chests out in a ridiculous display of male fighting hormones. Hermione studied the map with a sad smile on her face.

"Did you ever think I couldn't tell you, Ron?" Harry asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That maybe if the world knew Snape adopted me that it might, I don't know, make even more people want to kill us?" Harry crossed his arms and glared back at Ron, oblivious to Hermione.

"No, 'cause I didn't know! But that's how it is then, _Snape_? That greasy ex death eater is good enough for you, but my family isn't?"

"I love your family Ron, they're the first real family I had!" Harry blurted, rather exasperated and taking a step forward. Ron shoved him back hard, and he tripped over loose stones on the ground, falling down and landing hard.

"I don't want to hear it. And I have nothing else to say to you." Ron stomped his feet and disappeared through the mirror, leaving Harry on the ground to stare at the empty space.

"Harry?" Hermione crouched down and stole his attention. Her gaze searched his stunned face, and she placed a hand on his knee.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine." Harry said, coughing out a harsh laugh. He knew he sounded like he was about to cry.

"It'll be okay. I'm sure Professor Snape is a very good guardian for you, and he's got very useful things to teach you." She gave him a warm smile, and Harry found that her optimism didn't bother him as much as he thought it should.

"I couldn't tell you." Harry said, keeping his eyes at his knees. The map lay folded by his feet, still activated.

"I know." Hermione replied, standing up again. She picked up the map and scanned it with her eyes.

"Do you know that spell still, the one you cast over the DA member list?" Harry questioned, climbing slowly to his feet. "This has to remain a secret, I was telling the truth about the threat."

"Well I won't give him warts, but I'll get Ron to keep quiet." Hermione reassured with a wicked smile. "Want to walk with me back to the Tower?"

"No. I think I'll just walk around for a while." Harry said softly, wiping his hands on his jeans and noticing that there was a slight sting to his palms.

"Be careful." Hermione told him, giving him a pat on the shoulder as she slipped out of the mirror with the map and went off in search of Ron.

Harry waited a minute and then unfolded his invisibility cloak, noticing that his palms were dirty and had road-rash like cuts on them from where he fell back on the rock rubble.

Well aware that Hermione was probably tracking him on the map as well as Ron, Harry walked silently down the darkened hall, curfew starting in less than ten minutes. He passed by the Fat Friar, who was having a lively conversation with a group of rogue travellers in a portrait by the sixth floor stairs. Harry climbed higher, unseen through the cloak, and headed towards the seventh floor hallway. His head was hung down, and he allowed himself time to wallow in self-pity.

Ron's first reactions to things were usually stupid and hot headed, which was a fact Harry knew very well from being Ron's best friend, and partner in crime, for so many years. But it still hurt to know that Ron had immediately assumed the worse, assumed that Harry wasn't even himself, without giving Harry time to explain. Was Ron actually jealous that Harry had been adopted by Snape? Harry paced back and forth in the hall and replayed the short and rapid fight they'd had. It seemed that Ron figured his family wasn't good enough for Harry, that Harry thought he deserved better.

_Or something like that_, Harry wondered darkly as he pulled open the ornate wooden door and walked to the lone fireplace in the room. He'd expected Ron to be a little difficult with the identity of his new parent, but he didn't expect those accusations. Harry threw a handful of floo powder into the flames and stepped in, speaking the Russian word for home. The spinning halted for a moment for Harry to give the password, and then the room of requirement blurred away as he spun towards the living room of Snape's flat.

Snape wasn't home, and Harry figured that he had a staff meeting of sorts, or perhaps was first on patrol that evening. He flopped down on the couch, setting a real fire in the fireplace, and facing an internal struggle. He probably was best to have tea, even though it was late, but then again, Snape had whiskey in his cupboard and getting drunk seemed like a brilliant idea. The after effects, especially Snape's reaction, perhaps not so great. Harry settled on the tea, summoning Dobby to bring it, but also got out the whiskey and put it on the table in front of him.

"Dobby?" Harry asked, rubbing his head. He had a bit of a headache, which was mostly likely from trying not to cry.

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"Can you change the password on my trunk? The one in my dorm?" Harry took his shoes off and stood up, walking towards the bookcase. He had no desire to go to bed so early, and thought a book might distract him.

"Dobby is changing that right away. To what, Harry Potter sir?" Dobby poured the tea elegantly out of the pot and had brought along biscuits as well.

"Fyodor." Harry replied, running his fingers along the spines of the books before settling on some old yearbooks of Hogwarts. He wasn't sure why Snape had them, as they were from the 1950's, but they'd do for distraction.

Harry transfigured a sheet of parchment into two linen wraps, covering the palms of his hands so he wouldn't get any blood or dirt on the books. His hands were stinging, but he didn't mind the pain, not at this point.

He walked past the kitchen, pausing when he saw something stuck to the icebox. At Spinner's End Snape usually stuck whatever muggle house bill was currently due on the fridge, but at Hogwarts Harry was certain there weren't any bills as such. He was pretty sure that part of Snape's salary was full housing. Stepping closer, Harry saw with a warm lurch that it was his report card stuck up there. His grades were pretty good so far, divination the only one less than Exceeds Expectations, and Snape had found it good enough to put on the fridge.

Feeling slightly better, Harry sat down on the couch with his tea and started flipping through the yearbooks. Snape quietly entered the room an hour later, robe and shoes already off. Harry felt him staring from the door, and realised that he looked a bit of a mess sitting on the couch in dirty jeans, an old over large sweatshirt of Dudley's, dust in his hair and badly wrapped scratched hands. He knew his eyes were probably a bit red too, but Harry kept his glance down at the yearbook instead of looking up.

"Have you found my mother?" Snape finally asked, sitting down in the chair nearest the fire and moving the whiskey bottle out of Harry's reach.

"I didn't drink any of it." Harry mumbled, hoping that Snape believed him.

"Hmm." Snape made a non-committal noise and pulled a small notepad out of his pocket, tossing it on the coffee table. It looked like one that he carried around to make notes in during the day, little reminders to himself.

Harry stared down at the book, at the seventh year graduating class and the picture of Eileen Prince that he'd found. The high sallow cheekbones and lanky black hair pooled with the dark eyes were rather unmistakable, but he pointed at the photo anyway. "This is your mum?"

Snape glanced over as he took off his watch. "Yes."

"Is your dad in here?" Harry had checked already, but he flipped back through the pages to the S section anyway.

"No. He was a muggle." Snape stood and put the whiskey back in the cupboard.

"Did he kill her?" Harry asked softly, watching the glare that Eileen Prince gave the camera. He missed the bewildered look Snape gave him.

"Wherever did you get that stupid idea? No, he did not."

"In your memory, he was screaming at her. You were crying." Harry replied, closing the book softly.

Snape huffed his annoyance, but answered anyway. "Of course he was yelling. She tried to poison him. Would you care to explain why you've arrived here looking like an extra on an Indiana Jones film?"

"I think I figured out where the stones are coming from. A passage on the fourth floor, behind one of the mirrors." Harry answered, putting the book down and getting up to put his mug in the kitchen sink.

"You discovered this by falling into the dirt?" Snape asked, eyebrow raised.

"Ron pushed me." Harry admitted, feeling stupid that he'd gotten upset about it. Ron was always flying off the broomstick when he was surprised badly. "He saw the Marauder's map, and my name."

"And the hot headed Mr. Weasley is no longer speaking to you?" Snape asked, as perceptive as he usually was.

"No. Well, he had a few things to say first." Harry felt himself getting angry again, and picked at the linen wrap around his wand hand.

"Leave that alone. Weasleys have always been hot tempered."

Snape pointed his wand at Harry's hands and muttered a general healing spell before pushing Harry towards the small hallway, not stopping despite Harry's weak protests.

"Go to bed. And leave those disgusting clothes on the chair, Twinky is stopping by tomorrow."

…

Harry spent the next two days oddly reminiscent of his fourth year, after the Goblet of Fire had spit his name out for the tri-wizard tournament. Other students spoke to him as normal, but between Ron and himself was an icy sort of silence. The other boys in the dorm were uncomfortably aware that there was a problem, but were smart enough not to ask. Instead, they just averted their eyes as Ron stormed into his room at night, a glare on his face as he glanced at Harry's bed seconds before shutting the curtains on his own.

Harry moved slower, going about his nightly routine like normal, and sitting on his bed for a moment to think, before closing his own curtains. He always gave a feeble goodnight to Neville, Dean and Seamus, but refused to explain what had happened.

On Thursday afternoon, as Harry made the trek back to Gryffindor tower walking silently behind Ron and Hermione, a short first year with bushy blond hair and olive coloured eyes tripped up to them.

"I've a note for Harry Potter." He said, looking a little breathless. He was a Ravenclaw, and though he seemed a bit awkward in his body, Harry saw eagerness in his eyes.

Harry took the note with a thanks, and read it quickly. His friends had stopped walking, Hermione looking at him with interest and Ron with suspicion.

"It's from Dumbledore, I've got another lesson with him."

Hermione smiled and wished him luck, while Ron looked like he was fighting with himself over whether to say something or not. He turned hesitantly and stalked off, while Harry folded the note silently.

…..

Tom Marvolo Riddle was the most narcisstic and conceited bastard that Harry had ever heard of. Not even Draco Malfoy could compete with the type of lunacy Harry had picked up from the memories Dumbledore had showed him. And to put pieces of his soul into random objects, to ensure he'd live forever? Well not random, but that made it worse. Completely off his fucking rocker.

"Professor Snape told me that you've found a secret corridor on the fourth floor?" Dumbledore broke in mildly, changing the subject without warning.

"Yeah. I think that Malfoy is going to use it to bring people into Hogwarts." Harry said, getting agitated. Dumbledore was eerily calm at hearing this news.

"I do believe you're right. I want you to leave it be, Harry." Dumbledore asked unwrapping a lemon drop.

"What?" Harry asked, staring at the headmaster. Dumbledore had playfully tossed Harry a lemon drop, and it sailed passed his shoulder without him giving a thought.

"I am aware of Mr. Malfoy's plans, Harry. And I ask that you do not put yourself at risk and try to intercept them." Dumbledore looked intently at Harry.

"You know he's trying to kill you, and you don't care." Harry repeated.

"Oh yes Harry, I do care." Dumbledore asserted. "I do not wish for Draco Malfoy to become a killer. I want him to have the opportunity to do the right thing. To be able to make that choice, and he needs the time to make that choice."

"When will I have that choice, Professor? I never have, and it has cost me my parents and a normal life so far." Harry had stood up from his seat, and he felt like smashing things in the office once again. Dumbledore had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"Harry, when you were a baby I made the best choice that I could to keep you safe, and prevent you from growing up in a world where people knew more about you than you did yourself."

Harry ignored this, reassuring himself that he did have a family now and that no matter what stupid mess he got himself into, Snape would care about him. Much more than the Dursleys ever would.

"And what if he doesn't kill you?" Harry asked, crossing his arms in a stance eerily similar to one Snape stood in when he was irritated with something. "I heard them. His mother wanted Snape to do it…" Harry trailed off as understanding hit and he saw not surprise on the headmaster's face, but a slight measure of resignation.

"No." Harry inched back towards the door. "You can't ask him to."

"Harry, there are some things I cannot tell you yet, but it will work out…" Dumbledore rose, managing to make himself still look slightly shameful.

"NO! Don't tell me that! Don't tell me I will understand some day, I don't want to hear it." Harry backed up against the door and pointed his finger at Dumbledore, baring it like a wand. "It wasn't enough that you took Sirius away from me last year. Now you want to take him too?"

"Harry, no one is taking Professor Snape from you." Dumbledore replied, his voice strong as he stood still. "The curse in my hand is slowly killing me. When the time comes, if Draco chooses the light, I need someone who will show mercy to an old man."

Harry stared at the blackened shrivelled hand, and then at the objects on the table he now had a name for. Horcruxes. He looked back at the man he used to regard as his hero, and was reminded of people too lost in the details to see the bigger picture anymore.

"Will you deserve it?" Harry asked quietly, feeling like a complete arse. He didn't dare meet the headmaster's eyes as he left the office.

…

Harry shuffled into the great hall on Friday morning looking as ghastly as he felt. He'd not slept at all the night before, finally casting a silencing charm over his bed when Seamus had complained about the whittling noise at two thirty am. Harry had made four wooden owls, tiny ones that were currently resting in his robe pocket. Hermione slipped into the seat next to Harry a few moments later, with Ron sitting silently across from him with a look on his face that was finally not just one of suspicion. Apparently he looked awful enough that even Ron was slightly concerned. Breakfast was eaten in silence, as Harry couldn't figure out for the life of him how to tell his best friends that the headmaster was attempting to appoint his own murderer.

"What'd you do to Snape, Harry?" Seamus laughed, grabbing for more bacon. "Looks like he swallowed something nasty and he's glaring at you." All attention shifted to the head table at that, where Harry found Snape's piercing black gaze staring right back at him. Not just last semester such staring would have provoked him, but today he just managed a shrug and dropped his hand down beside his plate. After a few seconds he noticed out of the corner of his eye Snape's robes twirling as he stormed out the side entrance.

Ron had a calculated look on his face as they walked up to divination; one Harry was too tired to worry about. He hoped that Ron would at least still be a friend enough to wake him if he started snoring in class.

….

Snape's face remained impassive as he listened to the headmaster, the tightening of his lips the only sign of the fury that was building inside. Several of the portrait people, who well remembered Snape's strength, backed away into separate frames. Early Friday morning meetings never brought good news, and as Snape had just discovered, this Friday seemed to be spectacularly horrid.

"Excuse me, headmaster?" Snape asked, his voice cool and almost frozen. "Are you saying that Potter is a horcrux?"

"His scar is, Severus. Like his ability to speak parseltongue, it seems that some of Voldemort's powers were transferred along with the soul of his horcrux." Dumbledore sat at the desk, sitting straight up and staring at the potions master with hard blue eyes.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but do you not need to destroy the vessel to dispose of the horcrux?" Snape asked, rising from his seat.

"Yes." Dumbledore glanced at his desk and pushed the cracked ring forward, where Snape made no move towards it.

"Perhaps then you'd better explain what your plan is to destroy that particular piece of the Dark Lord." Snape invited, glaring right through Dumbledore.

"It is my belief that Voldemort does not know of this horcrux. As it was formed by Lily's death, by the same sacrificing magic that saved Harry, it is the one thing that is keeping Voldemort alive. As long as Harry continues to house the fragmented piece of Voldemort's soul, Voldemort cannot die. The prophecy states that it must be at the hands of either, and if I know Harry, he will have arranged his affairs and be prepared. He will defeat Voldemort."

"And _do_ you know Harry Potter?" Snape asked in a low voice. "Or are you staking this all on a prophecy told by a drunken colour-blind fraud who has yet to learn how to properly dress herself? It says neither can live while the other survives, but it does not bother clarifying the simple fact that both can die."

Snape had crossed his arms and was standing in a guarded stance by the door to Dumbledore's office. The headmaster had not moved from his seat, but looked down with a small amount of shame in his eyes.

"You believed it." Dumbledore said, knowing instantly after the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Of course I did!" Snape shouted, his face finally gaining colour. "I was young, stupid and enthralled by power!"

"And don't you see, Severus? Harry is not like that! Harry will know to do the right thing." Dumbledore looked patronizing and hopeful at the same time, and it made Snape want to strangle him.

"Of course he will." Snape agreed, spittle forming on his lips as he tried not to yell again. "But this time he'll do it for himself, the Slytherin way."

"I do not doubt that he will, Severus. He was certainly outspoken to me last night. Seems to have picked up some traits from you already." Dumbledore spoke, watching carefully as the compliment hit. Snape, as predicted, showed only the slightest hint of pride.

Snape turned and swung open the door, pausing only as he heard Dumbledore's next comment.

"There are two more lessons left, and I may need him to accompany me to the cave you found over the summer."

Snape took one look over his shoulder at his employer and mentally filtered the vulgar language out of his response.

"No. You need my permission now for him to leave the school, and you no longer have it."

….

Ron didn't speak one word to Harry in class, though he did cough a warning when Trelawney approached. She stared at Harry and gave him a handful of stones to toss on the table. He did so with reluctance, watching as they skittered over the stained tablecloth.

"You, my dear, " Trelawney said in an eerie and phoney voice. "The young collector of death. You seek it, you seek relics, you will see a man, two men struck down…"

"Sod that." Harry grunted, his face white as he stood and clutched his bag, storming out of the room. He didn't hear Ron explaining to their teacher that he wasn't feeling well, and he didn't also hear Ron following steps behind. Harry angrily stomped down the stairs and round the corner, where he ran right into Snape.

"Potter, why are you not in class?" Snape growled, holding Harry by his arms and checking him over.

"I don't give a fuck about class. She's predicting death anyway, big surprise there."

Ron's eyes widened as he watched from around the corner, expecting Snape to react at the language.

"Everyone dies. It's the one thing you cannot possibly fail at." Snape glanced briefly to Harry's forehead. "Perhaps I should amend that statement."

"No, she predicted someone around me to die. And we both know who that is." Harry snarled, trying to shrug off Snape's grip. "Maybe you'd better get away from me now, before it means you."

Ron had been taken back by the response his friend had dared give Snape off all people, but he almost dropped his bag at Snape's answer.

"Forever means forever, you idiot child. I signed those papers for life. Let's go, Elliot."

Snape turned Harry and started to march off with him, keeping a strong grip on Harry's squirming arm. Ron quietly walked behind them, keeping to the shadows.

"You're just giving up then? Let everyone else deal with the fallout and run away?" Harry grounded out, looking like he was about to burst with pent up anger.

"I never give up when it's important." Snape hissed. It made Ron flinch, but Harry held his ground. "I've just had a shouting match with the headmaster, neither of us have slept, and you're throwing a tantrum. We're leaving."

Before either Ron or Harry could say anything, Snape tapped his wristwatch and they both disappeared.

….

Ron and Hermione pounded on McGonagall's door, hoping that she'd be in. Lunch has just started, but some professors went back to their offices before hand, and as it turned out, she was one of them. While Ron caught his breath from running, Hermione hurriedly retold what she knew, that Snape had disappeared with Harry almost 45 minutes earlier. Ron recanted the rather disturbing conversation he had overheard, and did not become less concerned by the thin pursing of McGonagall's lips. She drew her wand and Hermione's face lit up when an elegant tabby cat sprang forth and received its message and missive. While they waited for a return reply, the chime on McGonagall's fireplace sounded and she ignored it with a glare at her desk.

"Woah." Ron suddenly said, as a brilliant and graceful silver doe galloped into the room and bowed before their head of house. A low voice was heard from it, and Hermione gasped.

"Is that Professor Snape's patronus?"

"It is." McGonagall confirmed, before beckoning them towards the fireplace. "Professor Snape would like to speak to both of you, and he wishes you to see for yourselves that he has not done away with your friend."

She ushered them through the fireplace without a moment to protest, and they both squeezed their eyes shut as they spun through the myriad of gates that made up the UK Floo Network.

Landing in a dreary and small library room, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace first and darted a quick glance to Snape, who was sitting in an old tattered yellow chair off to her right. He had a glass tumbler in his hand, filled with amber liquid, and seemed to be staring ahead at the wall of bookcases that faced the fireplace. While waiting for Ron to brush all the ash off his robes, Hermione took a look around the room, noting the small layer of dust on the shelves, the collection of old compasses that took up space in front of the books on one shelf, the old muggle radiator under the window, the settee with the rather comfortable knit blanket draped over it, and the framed photo on the wall near the kitchen entrance, of a small boy with dark hair standing on the pier of a small canal in an old city, about to get on a tourist boat.

"He is upstairs." Snape spoke, in a low and monotonous voice. Beside her Ron jumped slightly at the sound. "He has taken a dreamless sleep vial, so do not try to wake him. Return down here when you are satisfied that he's fine."

Snape nodded towards the far corner where the small wooden door slowly opened. Other than the small ticking noise from a clock in the kitchen, and the rain hitting the windowsill, the house was deathly quiet. The fireplace whooshed green again and McGonagall stepped through, greeting Snape with a nod and an apology for getting caught up in a firecall from the headmaster.

Hermione dragged Ron through the hallway door before he could blurt anything stupid about being in Snape's house, and when they reached the front entrance they saw a pair of Harry's shoes, kicked off against the wall. They climbed the narrow staircase, towards the grey and rainy skies of the window at the top of the stairs. Another tiny hallway, but the first door they arrived at at the top of the stairs had a small wooden plaque on it, carved in Cyrillic letters and with little icons around the word. Ron ran his fingers over the small carving of Hedwig, and gave a low whistle.

"Bloody brilliant. It's like someone carved all the important things in Harry's life."

Hermione spent a moment looking it over as well, rather impressed with the fine detail Harry had gone to. She wondered what name he'd written there, and made a note to look up the Cyrillic alphabet in the library when she got back to Hogwarts. Slowly she pushed the bedroom door open, and both were rendered speechless by what they saw.

Bright colours flashed back at them as they entered, from the deep blue of the closest wall to the bright blues and greens of the large world map opposing them. There was a small bookcase by the desk that was filled with muggle literature as well as some Dutch children's books and old wizarding books that had most likely been taken from downstairs. There was a small stereo on the bookcase as well, with a few cds stacked haphazardly beside it.

Ron moved over to inspect the wardrobe as Hermione gazed at their friend curled up on the green and white bed. His dark hair stuck haphazardly out against the forest green pillow and he slept curled up on his side, covered with a multicoloured knit blanket that looked as if it had been tucked around him. His wand and glasses lay on the table next to a half full vial of dreamless sleep. Hermione's eyes flicked up to the corkboard above Harry's desk, where a few post cards from Amsterdam had been randomly pinned up, as well as a walking map of Stockport, a newspaper clipping with showtimes for the cinema, and a hospital bracelet.

Ron whistled from the closet.

"Do you think Snape did this? There's got to be a tonne of new clothes in here, they look expensive. And he's got a laundry service too." Ron said, pulling out a canvass duffle bag. "Dunno who Half Wit is supposed to be though."

Hermione rubbed her finger on the hospital bracelet, reading the details on it. _Snape, Elliot F_. Same birth date as Harry's, and a random patient number assigned.

"I think he got more than just new clothes." Hermione said, motioning for Ron to come over to the desk. Ron inspected the map of Amsterdam and some place called De Kromweg that was pinned to Harry's corkboard, and the little x's drawn on it that marked off where Harry had been with Snape.

"There's nothing wrong with my family, is there?" Ron asked, mumbling a little in embarrassment.

"No." Hermione reassured him, taking his hand and leading him out of Harry's room. "But Harry needs a family of his own. One where he won't get lost in the shuffle." They closed the door as they left, stepping lightly on the stairs and still managing to hit all the creaky spots.

"I guess that's alright then." Ron said, nodding his head with a stern face as they walked towards the voices in the kitchen. Hermione shoved him a little through the library door.

"You are such a prat, Ronald."


	5. Chapter 5 A Weekend in Amsterdam

AN: Sorry about the wait, I fried my harddrive. Whoops. Thanks for all the awesome reviews :D

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Ch- 5 A Weekend in Amsterdam

When Ron and Hermione returned to the library, they found McGonagall and Snape sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly over the sound of rain from outside. The house was still impressively quiet, but Hermione found it a rather pleasant and anonymous quiet. She looked out the small window of the kitchen and saw the murky grey brick out side, and in the foggy distance a number of identical roofs lined up together framed by smoke stacks. They were somewhere in what seemed to be an industrial neighbourhood of England, and Hermione got the distinct impression that this row house, tucked away snugly between a street of all others that appeared the same, gave Harry a comfortable and safe place to not be the famous Harry Potter.

Snape rose as they entered, collecting the papers he and Professor McGonagall had been working on and moving them out of sight. Ron watched from where he stood in the doorway, feeling slightly unbalanced as he stayed put, uninvited to sit down. He felt rather like he was waiting for his detention to start. Beside him, Hermione seemed to be a bit further at ease.

Snape moved with grace in the kitchen, measuring a precise amount of coffee into a filter and flipping the coffee maker on. A rich aroma started to permeate the kitchen, and Hermione noted with slight amusement that when Snape opened the fridge, that in addition to the small carton of milk from the grocery store was a row of tiny potion vials labeled and stoppered with cork. On the fridge door itself seemed to be a Chinese takeaway menu that had been stuck there with a Union Jack flag magnet. She bit her lip trying not to smile.

"Mr. Weasley." Snape said after a moment, pouring his coffee into a small blue mug.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you sufficiently assured that your friend has come to no harm?" Snape still hadn't turned to look at him, and Ron still felt stupid standing uselessly in the doorway.

"Yes, sir."

"I am well aware that Miss Granger is the most level headed out of you three, but do I have your reassurance that you will not continue to ostracize my son due to your idiotic and blind schoolboy hatred of the person you believe me to be?"

The spoon gently clanked against the side of the mug as the coffee was stirred and Ron thought of the best response. _His son._ Like it or not, Snape was now his best friend's father, and Ron knew that if he wanted to spend time with Harry outside of school, he'd have to interact with Snape. If Harry had spent his summer here and agreed to the adoption, there was obviously something about Snape that Ron was missing. He looked around the kitchen and glanced at the library as well. Snape seemed to be giving him time to think about his answer, and both McGonagall and Hermione were leaving him to think too.

"I've never liked you, sir." Ron answered honestly as he shifted to the side, inspecting the picture on the wall closer. The little boy in the photo had dark hair and a thin face, and while he looked to be only five or six, his expression showed an older age. The green eyes were what spoke loudest to Ron.

"But Harry does. And that will good enough for me." The admission was harder that Ron thought it would be, but Harry was the first friend he'd ever had that was truly his, and not some acquaintance of his other siblings first. Snape seemed to have taken care of Harry, and perhaps in a few months Ron would get to know another side of Snape.

"Your approval has made my life complete, Mr. Weasley." Snape drawled, finally turning and leaning against the counter as he sipped his coffee.

Make that a few years, Ron amended in his mind, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the git.

McGonagall stood up with a smile and ushered them towards the fireplace, promising that Harry would be back to school after the weekend.

…..

When Harry woke up it was past six pm, and he realized groggily that he'd slept for more than five hours. He staggered downstairs, his bare feet cold on the wood floor as he passed into the library. The house smelled delicious: warm, and homey. It wasn't a feeling Harry was used to, but his stomach certainly appreciated it.

Snape was at the table, papers and parchment spread out along the surface, his quill flying across the page as he scribbled down his thoughts. On the stove was a large stockpot filled with something that was simmering, and Harry could discern the scent of beef, onion, and gravy coming from the pot. Snape must be making stew, and on the counter was a fresh loaf of French bread to go along with the dinner.

Harry touched the coffee pot and winced when his finger hit the hot surface. He took a mug from the cupboard; his favourite striped one, and poured himself a drink before sitting down.

Snape angrily struck long scratches into the parchment, wielding his quill as if it were a knife making scars into the paper. Harry watched him from across the table, his feet tucked into the too long pyjama pants he wore, and his hands holding onto his coffee mug like an anchor.

"What did you talk to the headmaster about?" Harry asked, very little emotion in his voice.

"The weather." Snape immediately sneered, not pausing in his writing. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Harry had flinched, but did not wish to lose his train of thought by apologizing yet.

"You used to be better at lying to me."

Snape continued writing in the silence. After another few moments he stopped, holding up the parchment for inspection.

"I never used to care why I was lying to you." Snape answered finally.

"He told me he was going to ask you to kill him." Harry said it in a conversational tone, but he refused to meet Snape's eyes when the older man looked up.

"As tempting as that offer is at times, I do believe I will decline." Snape responded.

"Can you? I've always gotten the frustrating impression that Dumbledore controlled more than I could ever imagine."

Harry sounded defeated, and it was a tone Snape abhorred.

"Giving up that easily? I'd been told that you were almost sorted into Slytherin, but I suppose your survival instincts just aren't up to par." Snape sneered, but the angry tone rolled over Harry like it was nothing.

"Is this what Slytherins do then?" Harry asked, sounding unaffected again. "You yell and rant, and plot your own way of how things will plan out?"

"This is what I do." Snape answered, annoyance in his voice. "Because I do not wish for either of us to become murderers."

A heavy silence fell over the table as Harry took this in.

"But you know I will be a murderer. You've known for years I have to kill Voldemort, so that shouldn't make you this edgy." Harry pondered aloud.

"Are you talking to yourself, or do you require an answer?"

"Who else would he mean then? I won't kill him, he knows that. He knows I won't kill you. Not anymore, anyway. Not my friends…another death eater maybe?"

Snape was staring at him oddly through his monologue, looking up. His dark eyes were not meeting Harry's, but instead were resting on the scar on Harry's forehead.

"He's told you about how horcruxes are made?" Snape asked, his voice very soft.

Harry subconsciously rubbed the scar on his forehead, suddenly feeling sick.

"I'm a horcrux?" Harry asked hoarsely, the coffee in his hands forgotten.

"Your scar."

Harry sat very still as he thought about that. So far, all the horcruxes had been damaged when Voldemort's soul had been torn from them.

"Do you trust me?" Snape asked, staring intently at Harry.

The papers were still scattered around him, the smell of heavy ink over the table and dark lines were around Snape's eyes. He looked like he hadn't rested, and had been burning the candle at both ends while working on his plans.

"I guess so." Harry shrugged, still trying to figure out how he could be a walking horcrux and what the hell that meant in the war.

"No. You either do or you don't. Lupin tells you it's safe to meet him, even though it's the full moon, because he's been taking his potion regularly for the past few months, do you go?

"….Yes." Harry answered, wondering what Snape was getting at.

"If the headmaster told you to follow him to a cave, to retrieve something with him, would you follow?"

"Er…" Harry thought, wondering what the cave could mean.

"Yes or no?" Snape demanded, not giving Harry time to think.

"Yes." Harry blurted.

"Professor McGonagall sends you back to your abusive relatives for the summer, only telling you that you must. No other reason. Do you go?"

"They didn't abuse…" Harry started, puzzled.

"Yes, they did. Answer the question."

"Yes, I guess."

"If I told you to drink a vial of potion that by smell and sight you recognize to be poison, would you do it?"

"I don't…no!" Harry answered, getting frustrated.

"And if the headmaster tells you to sacrifice yourself, because it's the only way to get rid of the horcrux, would you blindly do it?"

"Ye…what?" Harry gasped, fully grasping now why Snape had yelled at Dumbledore that morning.

"No! You will _not_, Elliot." Snape raised his voice, standing up.

"I don't know what you want me to do!" Harry yelled back, rising as well. "First you shake your head because I'm what, a stupid trusting Gryffindor? Then you get angry because I say no to the poison? I'm supposed to trust you to poison me? And what do you mean about sacrificing for the horcrux?" Harry's head was starting to throb.

"Forget the horcrux. I want you to think before you blindly trust people. I don't want a puppet for a son, I want one who thinks of his own safety first." Snape growled. "Above all, I want you to trust that I have your best interest in mind, no matter what I say."

Harry was standing tense in the kitchen, his shirt half tucked in and his glasses perched at an angle on his nose, with his wand sticking out of the waistband of his pyjama pants. He looked every bit a lost boy, but the resignation and exasperation in his eyes was anything but.

"Come here." Snape finally said, frustrated at not getting his point across. Snape grabbed Harry's shoulders, steering him out of the kitchen and marching him across the library to the hidden staircase to the basement cellar. Before going down, Snape murmured an incantation and plunged the staircase into darkness. Harry turned towards the light in the library and started when he realized that the spell hadn't turned the lights off, it had blinded him. Harry started to step backwards but Snape was taller behind him and clamped both hands under Harry's armpits, holding him tight. Harry could feel Snape's fingers pressing against his ribs as he growled to be let free.

"Breathe." Snape commanded, holding Harry still. Harry could smell the musky air coming up from the basement as they stood at the top, and the scent intermingled with Snape behind him. Old Spice, definitely, though Harry wasn't sure if it was cologne or just deodorant, mixed with the weighted paper of the books lining the shelves behind him. Snape stayed completely still behind Harry, a solid warm wall that kept him calm as he fought his small panic at standing blind at the edge of the stairs.

After a few moments of silence Harry started to shift; the scent of potion ingredients from the cellar starting to bother him. He wasn't afraid of the cellar, not when Snape was down there brewing. It was a creepy place, small and cramped with alcoves seemingly dug out at random and filled with boxes of innocent family heirlooms next to cauldrons filled with disgusting bits of dead things Harry couldn't identify. He wasn't afraid of the cellar. He just didn't like it.

Snape started to move, pushing Harry forward towards the step and keeping his hands tight so he had a strong hold on Harry.

"No! What are you doing?" Harry struggled back, afraid Snape was going to push him down the stairs.

"Put your hands out, and feel the walls."

Harry timidly put his hands out and took a step, feeling both annoyed and comforted by the fact that Snape was not letting him go.

They made very slow progress, Harry taking the slowest steps as he navigated the rickety wooden stairs down into the colder cellar air. He stumbled once, forgetting that there was a sizable chunk in one of the steps where Snape had dropped a set of scales by accident years before. Harry had a fleeting few seconds of panic that he would fall, when the arms instinctively tightened around him and he was kept up. Once he got to the bottom of the steps and felt the cold and slightly damp stone floor under his feet, Harry exhaled a deep breath and slumped back against Snape. He still couldn't see, but he had a temporary reprieve. Snape kept walking though, pushing the still blind Harry more into the middle of the room.

"Why the hell would you make me do that?" Harry asked, his anger held tight like himself.

"Why would I make you walk blind down a set of stairs to the cellar?" Snape asked, his voice close to Harry's ear and sounding much calmer than Harry felt.

"Yes! I could have fallen." Harry struggled to turn around and Snape let him go. Harry hated himself for feeling insecure as he stepped away from Snape.

"You didn't."

"So when we're at war I'm just supposed to trust that you think I can make it down stairs blindly without killing myself? Gee Dad, what a great skill to have."

"Cut the sarcasm. Perhaps I had reason for you to come down the stairs unseen." Snape answered, his voice coming from the left of Harry and catching him off guard. Harry spun around, glaring at black air. He wanted to go back upstairs and forget this stupid lesson.

"In your first year, when your darling bookworm friend set my cloak on fire, what did you think I was doing?" Snape asked, his tone low as he circled Harry.

"Cursing my broom." Harry answered immediately, wishing the man would stay still. He was used to pitch dark from his cupboard, he told himself. This was no different. Except the cellar was quite a bit creepier than the cupboard.

"That's right. Your nasty, vindictive, unfair, evil potions teacher was cursing your broom and trying to kill you in front of the whole school. Make you fall sixty feet and crash to your death."

Harry would have rolled his eyes, but he wasn't sure if Snape could actually see in the dark.

"Alright, I get it. You were trying to save me, even though it looked like you weren't." Harry turned, losing concentration of where he was for a moment. He did not want to put his arms out and admit that he wasn't completely certain of how far from the stairs he was standing.

"Not just last June you thought I was attempting to poison you, or help Umbridge complete that task, did you not?"

Harry huffed his breath and started sliding his feet on the floor. He'd find the damn stairs himself.

"I suppose you're going to gloat and tell me that you followed us to the shrieking shack in third year purely to make sure I was safe." Harry said.

Snape scoffed from behind where he was standing, and Harry jumped out of his skin when Snape's grip clamped down hard on his arm.

"No, I wanted Black caught and Lupin thrown out of Hogwarts. Your safety was secondary that night."

The hands guided Harry in the opposite direction he was originally inching, and after a few feet his foot hit the wood of the bottom step. He still couldn't see, though he figured Snape wouldn't lift the spell until his lecture was done.

"There are times, Elliot, when I will tell you to do something that may seem ridiculous or completely contrary to what you think should happen." Snape nudged him to walk, again letting Harry use his arms as he stumbled blindly up the first few steps.

"It may seem dangerous, it may seem useless, and it may frighten you to your very core." Snape suddenly lifted Harry without warning, grasping his hips and pulling him off the stairs. Harry gave a startled shout and started struggling, scrabbling for purchase in thin air as he hung suspended in the dark, who knows how many steps up an old and unsteady staircase.

"Stop." Snape growled, keeping a tight hold on Harry even though he was squirming dead weight. Harry panted, stilling as he told himself that a fall down stairs wouldn't kill him, he'd survived much worse. Somewhere in the back of his mind a stray thought was nagging at him that even when Snape had hated him, he'd never willingly let Harry come to harm.

"But you will need to trust me."

It took Harry a moment to realize that he had his sight back, and he kept his gaze straight ahead as Snape slowly lowered him back to the wooden stair, which seemed steadfastly solid in Harry's mind. Snape let him go and Harry scrambled up the steps, almost letting his wand slip out of his pyjama pants as he darted into the library and sat on the couch. Snape followed leisurely, closing the little alcove and turning to the kitchen to take the stew off the stove. Harry sat with his head down, his knees spread apart and his elbows resting on them, as Snape took bowls out of the cupboard and ladled the stew out. He placed the French loaf in the oven to warm up and soon the light yeasty aroma filled the air.

"You're cruel and sadistic." Harry muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Yes." Snape answered plainly, retrieving two spoons from the cutlery drawer.

"I am also ill tempered and pessimistic." Snape added, his brutal honesty throwing Harry off. Two small side tables appeared in the library, one at Snape's seat and one beside Harry and the settee. "And very invested in seeing you through this war."

Harry looked up and watched Snape as he floated the stew bowls over to the tables in the library. He removed the bread from the oven after a moment and cut it into small chunks.

"Did you have to scare me half to death to prove your point?"

"Did you trust that I wouldn't drop you?"

Harry didn't answer for a moment as he thought about that. He'd been panicked, he'd been annoyed, and his fight or flight body response had definitely kicked in Throughout the experience though, Snape's strong arms and grip had kept him tight, and Harry admitted to himself that they had grounded him.

"Yes."

Snape came into the living room and handed Harry a small plate of bread, the stew beside him swirling hot steam.

"The only person I've trusted enough with my survival so far has been Dumbledore." Harry muttered, dipping a chunk of bread into the stew and chewing it slowly.

"Professor Dumbledore." Snape corrected, waiting for his own dinner to cool a bit before eating it.

"And now he wants me to kill myself." Harry continued, staring at a spot on the floor. The night before he'd counted how many months he'd been alive, and how many more he figured were left. Sixteen years only equaled 192 months, and when he looked at it that way, that was a startling short amount of time. Snape rapped a book against the side table by his chair, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

"You are now the son of a potions master. Stop being melodramatic, and pay attention." He leveled a glare at Harry, and Harry sat up straighter, pulling his cold feet up on the couch.

"While you were comatose upstairs, your head of house and I had an enlightening conversation." Snape began, summoning the stack of notes he'd been working on earlier. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Harry idly rubbed his feet, before sighing and summoning a pair of woolen socks as well. The socks came sailing into the room as Snape organized his notes, and Harry snatched them out of the air.

"They match. Deal with it." Snape said, not looking up. He finally found what he was looking for, a paper he handed to Harry with the title of "mediaeval horcrux usages." The page was long and written in Snape's spidery writing, mixed with a few sentences of McGonagall's. Harry sat back on the couch with his dinner as Snape started to explain their theories.

…..

For all his years of living in rainy and gloomy England, Harry was not prepared for the bitter wind of Amsterdam in late October. He'd taken the de-aging potion again, as they'd been meeting up with Amy Benson and her family, and though Snape had shrunken a wool pea coat for him, he found himself shivering as they stepped out onto the street.

The apparition point that Snape had chosen landed them in De Kromweg, and Harry marveled at how the sunny and cheery street in the summer had turned into a pleasant and warm autumn lane, coloured leaves blown about viciously from the high winds scattered through the plentiful crevices and gutters, pictures of Hallowe'en decorations in shop windows as owners brought a bit of the English holiday fun to the Netherlands. Pumpkins were stacked in bunches in doorsteps and window displays, and as they passed by the market Harry saw large signs for sales on all sorts of pumpkin juices, pumpkin flavoured coffees, teas, pie, scones, tarts, and as they passed by the little bakery, Harry's mouth watered at the large pumpple pie in the window. A mixture of pumpkin and apple that he'd never considered for a second before, but that his mouth was watering to try now.

Snape led him quickly into De Kinderkamer, narrowly guiding them through the crowd of parents and shrieking children until they got to the boys' section of the store and were able to find a dark green scarf and old fashioned wool cap to match with Harry's jacket. Much warmer, Harry followed Snape silently through the streets and watched with great interest as the Dutch wizard and witches bartered for items with shopkeepers whom they'd been visiting for years. He let the sounds of Dutch wash over him, before tugging on Snape's pocket to ask a question.

"Why do you have one of those talking fish things, and I don't?"

Snape was walking slower to accommodate Harry's smaller legs, and didn't seem to mind that Harry preferred to hook the tiny fingers of his hand on the edge of Snape's coat pocket as they walked.

"Toddlers and small children are statistically proven to be very adept at acquiring a second language by nature of immersion." Snape answered, putting a hand between Harry's shoulders to keep him close as they squeezed through a crowded narrower part of the street. Saturday mornings were always busy market days.

Harry felt warm at the implication that Snape thought he could learn it unaided. Near the end of the street by the stationary shop, Snape knocked on a weathered and plain door next to the shop, which had the name of Wouter Van Bueren in tiny elegant gold letters on it. At the top of the stairs was a rather spacious flat with large windows that overlooked De Kromweg. The interior of the living room was a dimmer grey, the light from the cloudy day outside not quite bright enough to warm the room, and candles floated in thick glass shades throughout the room, the wax shielded from dripping over the worktables. Harry's eyes were wide as they took in the large shelves full of small pieces of rounded wood, the shapes as varied as the type of wood. On another wall of the room were organized boxes of metals, and next to that case were different slabs of marble chunks. In the center of the room stood an old man, hunched over a long work table with a funny light on his forehead as he examined a piece of steel as if it were treasure.

Taking another closer look, Harry saw that the man was carving a small family seal, for use when writing letters or authenticating documents.

"Mr. Snape." The man finally greeted, his voice a bit raspy. The Dutch accent made Snape's name sound almost like it had been pronounced as Sneep.

"Mr. Van Bueren." Snape acknowledged with a nod, stepping forward and taking Harry with him. "This is Elliot, whom I wrote to you about."

Harry saw with a start that one of the tiny snakes he had carved, one he'd made while bored one weekend at Snape's flat in Hogwarts, sat proudly on Mr. Van Bueren's table.

"Ah." The old man answered, turning and peering at Harry with slightly crossed eyes. He had a few days' stubble on his chin and though his shirt was slightly threadbare, it looked well pressed. His smile was a bit crooked, but he had a kind look about him and appeared to be like a cheerful grandfather figure.

"The very young man with talent. Welcome to my workshop."

Harry and Snape spent more than an hour with Van Bueren, learning about the seal making trade and the intricacies of carving unique crests and designs in mirror image on rings and stamps. Harry was deeply interested, and also very touched that Snape thought he was good enough at carving to consider this as a future career. Snape was not a very demonstrative man, not in positive lights at least. He had no trouble expressing his anger and displeasure at things. However, Harry knew that even after the war was over, Snape would never be the kind of man to carry a picture of Harry capturing the snitch at a game in his wallet and show it off to other parents over casual conversation. That just wasn't who Snape was. He showed his pride in other ways, and Harry was content with that. His report card was displayed on the fridge at home, and Snape believed he was talented enough to become a seal maker, enough to have written and arranged this meeting with Van Bueren.

By the time they'd left, Harry had amassed a small folder full of information of the history of seal making and some of the processes. Van Bueren gave him some small pieces of different metals to try carving with, and made Harry promise to send him his first crest design to have made into a stamper.

Feeling slightly cheerier than he had been in the morning, Harry walked with Snape as they passed through the barrier to Muggle Amsterdam. He latched his fingers to Snape's coat pocket again and followed as they walked along the canal, waited for the long pedestrian light to cross Rokin and wander up Kalverstraat, avoiding the heavy Saturday crowd of Dutch shoppers and browsing tourists. Snape weeded through the oblivious stragglers, leading Harry to the HEMA department store outside of what looked like a small mall. They only waited for a few minutes before Harry saw a tall blond haired man make his way through the crowd, smiling and holding the hand of a young boy about Harry's size.

Jan was wrapped up against the wind, almost as well as Jeroen was, and he seemed to be in a very good mood as they stopped by Harry and Snape.

"Mr. Snape!" He greeted loudly, his accent an odd mixture of Dutch and English. He smiled down at Harry as well.

"And little Elliot again too. Hoe gaat het?" Jan asked cheerfully as he pulled Jeroen instinctively out of the way of a woman walking her bike through the crowds.

Harry regarded him carefully. How were things? Horrible. Gritty, disturbing, suffocating, unfair, and inevitable. Jeroen and Emma had not taught him much Dutch though, and he did not feel like explaining.

"Goed." Harry answered softly.

Jan smiled again and waved behind him, where Harry could see Amy Benson walking slower with Emma. While they waited to arrive, Jan pulled a small bag from his pocket and passed it over.

"I did hope your papa would bring you." Jan said, nodding at the package. Harry carefully opened it, noting that the tiny button shaped cookies were called kruidnoten, and that they smelled like Christmas ginger biscuits. Jan explained that they were his favourite holiday treats as a boy, and that it wouldn't be proper for Harry to visit Holland without trying them.

Their original plan was to go to the Blue café at the top of Kalvertoren, which Harry learned was the name of the four-story mall that they were standing outside of, but they made a small pit stop at a toy store called Bart Smit that was just around the corner first. Emma had apparently had a very bad week at school, and had been promised a small toy, along with her brother, for her good behaviour. Ms. Benson, who'd noted with sharp perception the subdued mood that Harry was in, had written him a note and told him to choose a toy as well. Harry had pretended not to be amused with Ms. Benson had scolded Snape for not offering Harry a toy to cheer him up.

When they'd finally gotten to the café, Harry was taken away by the wide view of Amsterdam that was presented. The café sat at the top of the tower, a round two floor area that had seats right up against the windows so that the entire city of Amsterdam was visible, the jagged lines of rooftops spreading out from the centre of town like bicycle spokes.

He sat at the table opposite Snape, sitting beside Jeroen and staring at the menu while his new wizard action figure and dragon figure stood stoically on the table. Harry had gone for a generic wizard instead of the Merlin one, and chosen a dark purple dragon to go along. He was listening to Jeroen and Emma jabber in Dutch to each other as they tried to decide what milkshake to get when all of a sudden he felt his finger being both nipped and poked at the same time. Harry glanced beside him and dropped his jaw with shock as he watched the wizard walk warily around the stunted dragon, his wand outdrawn. That was what had poked Harry, and it seemed the dragon had nibbled on his finger as well, as it was now licking its lips and hiccupping.

Snape wore a smug smirk on his face as Harry let out an involuntary giggle, completely ignoring the menu to watch his new toys that appeared to the entire Muggle world to just be small and stationary hand sized action figures.

It was the first time he'd seen Harry laugh all weekend, and Snape relaxed a bit in his seat while he waited for Amy Benson to pass her note across the table. The lunch had been ordered, and while Snape didn't need to spend much time with Benson to get his answers, he wanted confirmation for his suspicion about the Dark Lord's habits. He got it as the food arrived, the tall milkshakes frosting the glasses they were delivered in as he read the note.

"Tom's favourite number as a child was four. He was obsessed with collecting things in fours, four bottle caps, four books, four pens, and four post cards. You're right, when he came back from that boarding school every summer he carried himself with a superior air. They made him prefect one year, and he was more arrogant than anyone else in the orphanage that summer."

Snape nodded and made small talk for the rest of the meal. Harry happily ate his dinosaur shaped chicken strips, not even bothered when Snape shoveled part of the vegetables on his plate to Harry's. Dudley had spent years gloating about his meals out at McDonald's and other fast food places, but Harry was smug as he took a sip of his thick banana milkshake and assured himself that this was much better than the fried food that Dudley had had. His dragon, who he'd have to think of a name for soon, seemed to agree because it kept trying to nip at one of the french fries on Harry's plate.


	6. Ch 6 Socks, Snakes, and a Bad Decision

AN: Thanks thanks thanks! I can't express enough how much I appreciate all of you. And also. I want wizarding toys. That's all. :)

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Ch 6 - Socks, Snakes, and a Bad Decision

Sunday morning came bright and sunny, which was a welcome break from the rainy and cold winds of the past few days in both Scotland and Amsterdam. Though Jan and Amy had recommended a few pubs in the area near their hotel on the Spui to find a good full English, Snape wasn't in the mood to deal with hung-over tourists and so they went to the wizarding section of town. Like its Muggle counterpart, the shops of De Kromweg were almost all closed on Sundays, though that did not stop Harry from slowing down as he passed the quidditch storefront, eyes blinking as he took in the very bright orange robes of the Dutch national quidditch team. They were in display the window, brilliant orange with touches of black lettering and white trim; and Harry wondered if the team didn't have a bit of an advantage from the sheer visual distraction.

With his hand latched onto the edge of Snape's pocket again, Harry allowed himself to be led down the crooked cobblestones of De Kromweg. Harry remembered most of the stores from the summer, blushing a bit when he remembered the mess he'd caused at the apothecary. Snape strode on though, seemingly not remembering Harry's breakdown, or perhaps he wasn't bothered by the memory of it. Harry tried to discreetly peek down a tiny alleyway that was wedged between a second hand shop and a shoe store, and this time Snape slowed down with a smirk.

"That's De Wallen." Snape's low voice grumbled in the quiet empty street. "While it is far more interesting than the Muggle version you found yourself in last summer, I don't believe you'll wish to visit there while still a minor under my care."

There was mostly amusement in Snape's tone, instead of threat, but Harry shook his head fast and kept walking. He well remembered the lecture in the Dutch hotel room he'd gotten last summer after sneaking out to the Red light district, and he was still embarrassed when he thought about it. Having to stand very close to Snape, held in place by the man's knees, and look down at him while he was told about the worry he'd caused. And that look of pure disappointment on Snape's face; which was something he didn't ever want to experience again. A funny thought, Harry pondered with a smirk. For years he used to regularly annoy the daylights out of Snape, and not be all that bothered by it, as it was just a fact of life.

Rounding the bend of De Kromweg by the garden store, Harry saw that the street opened up a little, stepping down into a small little Dutch plein. Café chairs were scattered throughout the area, loosely surrounding a statue in the centre, in a pattern Harry couldn't identify. There seemed to be chairs and tables from three different cafes, and Snape chose one at random as he sat. Beyond the square was a small canal, part of the Amstel that was under heavy anti-muggle charms and protections.

After the waiter had left with their orders, Snape took his notes out and cast a privacy charm over the table. Harry, who had no other excuse other than the fact that he currently looked like a six year old and simply wanted to, took his new action figures out of his pocket. He put the wizard and dragon out on the table, his eyes sparkling as he watched them stretch and walk around. There was a slight twinge of disappointment as he thought of what neat toys he would have had growing up as a wizard, but he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the toys in front of him now. He was six today, he was well justified in playing with them. And Snape didn't have to know that Harry would take the toys back to his dorm with him.

"What horcruxes has the headmaster told you about?" Snape asked, flipping through one of his pages.

"The diary - that one I destroyed. And he told me about the ring, he showed me the memory of where that came from."

Morning coffee arrived at the table and Harry fumbled with the sugar packets before Snape snatched them from him and opened them himself.

"The Gaunt ring, I believe he called it, from the Dark Lord's maternal side."

"Yeah." Harry agreed, stirring milk into his coffee. The waiter had given Snape a raised eyebrow when Harry had asked for the coffee, but Snape's scowl had driven him off. "The key is one too. You remember the key on his desk? It was lying on top of a picture of some old manor house, the one that…with the graveyard."

Snape removed the dragon from the creamer cup, where it was trying to lap up the milk. He reached over and placed two fingers under Harry's small chin, lifting his head up.

"I was not there that night."

Snape did not break eye contact, letting his protective expression remain unguarded on his face.

"I know." Harry whispered, forcing himself not to think of how hunted he'd felt in the cemetery, hated by people he'd never even met. People who took perverse pleasure in seeing him in pain.

The purple dragon walked over to Harry's hand, nibbling lightly on his finger. The wizard, whom had been riding the curve of one of the spoons like a surfboard, gave Harry a friendly wave.

"He's narcissistic." Harry said, drawing himself back into the conversation and changing the topic. "The ring from his mum's family, the key from his dad's manor house, and the diary was a memory of himself."

"Mmm." Snape considered as the breakfast was set at the table. "Ms. Benson confirmed yesterday that his favourite number is four. I do not believe, however, that your scar was an intentionally made horcrux. Are you able to feel them?"

Harry stabbed his egg, causing the yolk to burst and run through to his small potato bites.

_No, I can't feel this one at all._ Harry replied sarcastically, hissing in parseltongue.

"If I wish a sarcastic response, Elliot, I will give it myself." Snape admonished lightly, causing Harry's jaw to drop.

"Can you understand parseltongue?"

"I can understand _you_ just fine. You've never been able to hide your thoughts." Snape responded, before taking a bite of his breakfast. After chewing quickly and swallowing, Snape drew his hair back behind his right ear and pulled a small flesh coloured, worm-like gadget from the crook of his ear. It was snugly hanging on like a hearing aid, and Harry peered closely at it as Snape held it out.

"Is that the babelfish?" Harry asked eagerly, forgetting for a moment that they were discussing horcruxes and that he was one. "I didn't know they could translate parseltongue too."

"Yes, and no." Snape dropped it in his hand, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

"No what?" Harry asked, not looking up. He jumped when the babelfish wriggled in his hand.

"It understands human languages. I made a few modifications to it."

"What'd you do, soak it in my blood or something?" Harry snorted distractedly, poking it with his finger. It really did look like a little worm.

"Something like that." Snape replied, continuing to eat his breakfast. Harry looked up with a scrunched up face.

"Dad, that's disgusting."

"It was experimental." Snape corrected smugly, before taking the babelfish back and hooking it over his ear again. "And it worked."

"It's still gross. How are you going to get rid of my horcrux part, anyway? Dumbledore said only a few things can destroy them, including basilisk venom. The basilisk bit me in the Chamber of Secrets, and that didn't get rid of my scar, so I'm not sure…oh wait, I stabbed the snake with the Gryffindor's sword, think we could use that to, I don't know, cut the scar off?"

Harry was holding up his fork, which had a bit of sausage and egg on it. Snape blinked at him, his face blank as his mind temporarily jarred off track at everything that was wrong with what Harry had said.

Snape took a slow swallow of coffee before answering.

"You, Elliot, will be lucky if I ever let you out of my sight again."

Harry stared at him, bewildered.

"You set Lockhart to go down there on his own, and we all know what a fraud he was. I was twelve at the time and Ginny was in trouble. We had to go." Harry shrugged, using six-year-old simplistic logic.

Snape shook his head and unfolded a piece of parchment from his pocket.

"I may have a solution for your scar. We still have the matter of the fourth horcrux the Dark Lord purposefully made. The headmaster has so far been unsuccessful in finding that, though not due to lack of effort." Snape said dryly, remembering their trip to find the cave in Dover and Harry's seasickness.

"But, we figured it out yesterday. Ms. Benson told us what it was." Harry sounded puzzled at this, rather confused that Snape wasn't following his thought path. "She said he was his most arrogant after he was made prefect. We've already had something from his families, and something from his self. Dumbledore said Hogwarts was his first home, so the last thing has to be something from school."

Snape was staring at him with a calculating look. The boy's argument made quite a lot of sense, and it was rather logical for the steps that the Dark Lord had taken to ensure his survival, not to mention his ego.

"I have no idea what it would be, but probably something that showed his status." Harry said as an after thought, licking his fingers to get all the jam off them. The toast had gone down messily.

Snape, slightly miffed that he hadn't figured out the horcrux first, pretended to stick Harry with the bill out of spite.

…

Hogsmeade weekends were announced on the common room notice boards and they were much looked forward too. The chance for a small break before going back to the end of November essay writing was taken advantage of by most in their year, and Harry was determined for this weekend to knock a few items off his list of things to do. Ron and Hermione, who'd be spending their first Christmas at the Burrow as a couple, were nervously looking forward to Hogsmeade as well. Christmas shopping this year seemed to have an extra bit of work for everyone, as Harry was determined to get Snape something nice too.

The man had never hinted once to Harry that he'd be getting Harry anything, but Harry didn't mind. After years of not getting presents, it was nice to get something for someone just for the sake of seeing their pleased expressions once they opened the gift. Heavens knew the Dursleys had never cared for anything Harry had made. At least, Harry hoped that Snape would be pleased with his present, as it would take Harry quite a while to make.

As they ate breakfast hurriedly in the Great Hall that morning, some students were snowed on as the owls descended en mass upon the students with parcels. One black owl, which Harry had never seen before, landed in front of him at the table and dropped a small letter off. Harry looked up towards the staff table and was not surprised to not see Snape there. Snape had gone to a meeting with the Death Eaters the night before, and Professor McGonagall had assured him late last night that though Snape was fine, he'd be resting and speaking with the Order for the remainder of the morning.

Harry hesitantly opened the letter and couldn't help the grin that accompanied his small snort at the contents. There was a 4 galleon bank draft in the note, for use at any shop in the village, and instructions for its exact use.

_You are to purchase new undergarments and toiletries as needed. I require one pound of milk chocolate from Honeyduke's. _

_Keep vigilant while off school grounds,_

_Pr S _

_Dad. _

Harry smiled at the signature; it looked like Snape didn't know how he was supposed to mark it. He didn't mind Harry calling him dad, but the written form seemed much more permanent. Hermione nudged for him to finish his coffee, which Harry did while still staring at the note. Dad. There it was, on paper. As a child he'd longed for anything from his parents, even an old note with his name on it, just to prove their connection and know that he belonged to someone. Now he had it, and even though it Snape was not his real father, Harry figured James Potter would be all right with Snape raising him. Snape had known and done more to raise Harry for longer than either James or Lily had, and in the past few months Harry had felt more cared for than ever before.

"Is that a note from him?" Hermione asked, nodding towards it.

"Yeah." Harry smiled, realizing that the note appeared blank to her. He shoved the bank draft in his pocket, crumpling it, and grabbed a sticky bun to go.

…..

On Friday evenings a schedule had been worked out between the three. They'd all leave Gryffindor Tower together and head towards the Room of Requirement. It looked like they were spending the evenings hanging out, but in reality, Harry would floo to Snape's flat first, and then his other two friends would spend the evening on a date. Sometimes they'd go down to the kitchens, sometimes they'd be in the library, and sometimes they'd use the Room of Requirement to provide a different place setting. Harry never asked what went on during these dates, but he did enjoy teasing Ron about it.

They hadn't gone the night before, because Snape had requested Harry come visit after his Hogsmeade trip, due to the death eater meeting.

On the way up to the floo in the Room of Requirement, Harry stopped them on the third floor near the trophy room.

"Ron, didn't you have to clean a trophy with Tom Riddle's name on it before?" Harry asked, skipping over the quidditch cups and house awards.

"Yeah, the stupid award for special services to the school. I belched slugs all over it in second year."

Harry snorted at the image, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm surprised you didn't put anyone's eye out with your wand that year, Ron." Hermione said.

"He was defending your honour against Malfoy though, even then you were his girl." Harry pointed out, grinning as Hermione's blush began to turn the same colour as Ron's.

"Shut up, Harry." Ron grumbled, pointing out the award.

Nothing looked different about it, it was slightly tarnished and had a few names carved into it from the years it had been in use. Harry's eyes glazed over; he had no way of testing for horcruxes, indeed Dumbledore had not even explained much of what they entailed, but somehow he knew that wasn't it. They walked further around the room, Harry trailing his fingers along the glass and wondering when Filch would find the fingerprints he'd left. Rounding the little dark corner where the NEWT awards were, Harry stopped suddenly and stared at the lower shelf. There, slightly in the shadows of the bigger Head Boy Award, were several small plaques with house crests. It seemed that there was an award for the highest matriculation scores for prefects of the school, and Harry saw the name Riddle on the Slytherin plaque. A badge was pinned to the knotted wood, and the brass nameplate had been dutifully shined like the rest of the room.

Harry leaned in and inspected it through the glass, noting that the badge looked like it had been added on after the nameplate was set, and that it didn't match the style of the other house crests.

"Did Percy ever give his prefect badge back?" Harry asked, staring at the worn Slytherin crest.

"No." Ron answered, staring at the same plaque. "He keeps it in his secret toy box with his baby blanket. He'll never give it up."

"That looks like a prefect badge, not a crest." Harry commented, crouching a little to get a closer look.

"It's portable, too." Hermione stated, standing beside Harry.

"It'd have to be wouldn't it? For when he, you know, made it." Ron gulped.

They all stared at it for a moment before shuffling towards the door.

"All these years and it's just been sitting there in the display case." Hermione said, her voice trailing off.

"The last horcrux possessed Ginny and set a huge snake on me. Can't wait to see what this one does." Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"You're starting to spend too much time with Snape, mate." Ron pushed him out into the hall.

…..

Harry landed almost upright this time as he staggered out of the flames, hopping on one foot a few feet across the hearth before spreading his arms out and gaining balance. Hah, he thought triumphantly, ignoring Snape's amused look from the corner desk.

"Do you want your change back?" Harry asked, putting the block of chocolate on the kitchenette counter.

"You didn't spend it all? What an honest boy I have." Snape intoned, the corner of his lip twitching. "Did you at least buy what you were told?"

"Yesssss." Harry drew out his last syllable, sounding like an exasperated child. "Underpants, shampoo, new socks." He lifted his trouser legs with flourish, showing off his feet.

"Matching socks?" Snape raised his eyebrow in disbelief and placed his hand on his chest. "Be still my heart."

Harry, feeling every bit as mature a 16 year old as he was, stuck his tongue out at Snape.

"Why is it that you are normally incapable of matching those? Were you dropped on your head as a toddler?" Snape asked, snapping his ledger book shut and standing up with a subtle stretch.

"Probably. " Harry reflected, thinking of how his Aunt Petunia had treated him as a child. "But no. I was the sock monster at the Dursley's."

Snape raised his eyebrow in a questioning look.

"You know how soft and nice socks feel when you first get them? Well Dudley always got new socks and I got the hand me downs. But when a sock went missing, he just shoved them aside because they didn't match. They hadn't really gone missing, I just took one out of almost every load. I couldn't wear them in pairs though, because then Aunt Petunia would have noticed."

"Your aunt never questioned why socks went missing?" Snape asked, nodding at Harry to go out into the entryway.

"Well, no." Harry shrugged, following him out and ducking under the menacing coat rack. "Have you ever seen a muggle washing machine and dryer? It's common knowledge that dryers steal socks. I just helped with its task."

Snape looked bothered by this revelation, but he didn't voice his displeasure to Harry.

"That does not explain why you keep stealing my old shirts when you sleep here. And I think that is my old jumper you're wearing, you little thief." Snape pointed out, picking a bag up off the floor.

"Some hand me downs I don't mind." Harry answered with a small smile, before changing the topic. "Are we going out?"

"We are." Snape confirmed, pulling his boots on. He was wearing his regular teaching robes, which Harry supposed were partially worn to maintain his strict professor demeanor. Harry had seen his dad regularly during the summer wearing just casual slacks and a more modern dress shirt, and thought that look was much better for Snape. He made a much classier muggle than Uncle Vernon ever did, and Harry figured that the imposing teachers robes were for safety in the potions classroom and to appear stark and unapproachable to students and staff.

"We are going to harvest basilisk venom, and I believe we shall find it in the Chamber of Secrets."

There was no mistaking the excited gleam in Snape's eyes, though his statement had come through more like an order.

"I think you might be right." Harry grinned. "By the way, I think I've figured out the last horcrux."

Harry quietly relayed to Snape their discovery in the trophy room during the walk to Myrtle's washroom. Harry, who was hidden under the invisibility cloak Snape had demanded he carry with him at all times, smirked to himself as Snape drew a sharp breath in protest. They'd reached Myrtle's bathroom and though the sign said it was still out of order, Snape was obviously hesitant to enter.

Harry wasn't, however, and knowing that no one else was in the corridor he swung the door open and walked right in.

Myrtle was splashing about in one of the toilets, singing an old tune to herself in a very off-key tone. Harry ignored her and folded up his cloak, shoving it back into one of his expanded trouser pockets.

Snape grimaced at the singing, before crossing his arms and regarding Harry.

"Just how many times have you entered this washroom? I'm almost afraid to know how you discovered the chamber here."

Myrtle, hearing Snape's deep voice, rose out of the stall and gave them a haughty look.

"Tsk tsk. This is the girls' bathroom, seems like none of you boys know how to read." She had her arms crossed as well and out of the corner of his eyes Harry saw her pigtails bobbing as she shook her head.

"Oh it's you. I thought you'd abandoned me, or have you come back to insult me again?" She looked petulant and Harry continued to run his fingers along the sink taps, looking for the snake carving.

"I've never insulted you, Myrtle." Harry responded calmly. He did not want to make any promise about coming back to visit her again, lest she decided to surprise him in the bath once more.

"Don't go in there, Myrtle's in there uglying the place up. Spotty Myrtle with the blemished face, Myrtle the girl with bug eyes, she'll drive you crazy with her horrid voice. I know what people say about me." Myrtle ranted, seemingly not to be deterred now that she had an audience. Most of the insults were rather lame, but Harry suspected that kids in the 1940's had been a little less verbally vicious than they were now.

Snape, on the other hand, had probably never felt the urge to hold back.

"Your hearing's damn near perfect." He complimented idly, causing her to sputter. She left with an undignified wail, speeding through the pipes and heading in the general direction of the Hufflepuff dorms.

Harry turned so Snape couldn't see him grinning, and hissed at the tap to open.

"Thanks for driving her off, she could have gotten me in trouble." Harry said, feeling a bit reckless. The tunnel had opened and he felt like it was more an adventure this time than a walk to probable death.

"If you're referring to the illegal batch of polyjuice potion you brewed in here with Miss Granger, I am already very aware of that incident." Snape responded sternly, a tone that clashed with the excited curiosity on his face as he inspected the walls of the tunnel opening.

"How did you hear about that? We didn't even tell Dumbledore that one." Harry stepped towards the edge and toed the smooth ridge with his foot. He hated this part, he assumed that this was how it felt to be on a rollercoaster as well, about to take the big drop. 90% nerves, 10% anticipation.

"Spare me the innocent protestations. Granger spent four weeks in the infirmary looking like a cat and the only ingredients stol- POTTER!" Snape reached out to grasp Harry as he jumped, but missed completely and Harry disappeared into the darkness. This time, knowing what was coming, Harry laughed as he slid and twisted down the pipes.

Snape was a bit less receptive to the ride, Harry reflected, as he listened to the litany of curses and dark words preceding the man down the tunnel. Snape landed with a grunt and Harry was amused to hear Snape scourgify himself before Harry could even cast a lumos.

"Come on Dad, where's your sense of adventure?" Harry grinned cheekily as he stomped through the rat skeletons and down the passage, headed towards the Chamber door.

Snape halted his process with a tiny gasp though, as they came upon the large shedding of skin that Harry had first seen years ago with Ron and Lockhart.

"We saw Malfoy today." Harry offered conversationally, watching Snape carefully cut the shed skin into large rectangular pieces.

"He was in Dervish and Banges. Don't know what he'd want to buy there though, they sell second hand stuff, don't they?" Harry hated how he sometimes chattered when he was antsy.

"Some." Snape responded, folding the cuttings gingerly. He was crouching over the skin, careful not to let his knees down on the wet stone floor.

"Well anyway, I saw some Hufflepuffs leaving there and I noticed him. I still think Dumbledore's wrong to ignore him." Harry stated, crossing his arms. He would have leaned against the rock wall, but he wasn't sure how steady it was after the blast Lockhart had caused.

"While the headmaster often appears to be taking a blind eye to things, you will find that he is actually watching very closely."

"Yeah, that worked so well last year." Harry sneered to himself, thinking about Sirius.

"Even omnipotent wizards make mistakes." Snape said, narrowing his eyes. "And while you were noticing Mr. Malfoy, how was your little Hufflepuff friend?"

Snape had just carefully put all the cuttings into his bag and was standing back up.

"I don't have a Hufflepuff friend." Harry stammered, the blush reaching his ears.

Snape rolled his eyes before ticking off points from his finger.

"Just under six feet tall, short brown hair as ridiculously untamed as yours, hearing impaired, has zero interest in quidditch, An artist who spends his free time painting or sculpting, I think it is." Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, watching him squirm in the shadows.

"Heathcote, right?" Snape asked, his tone lacking any real barb to it.

"Euan, yeah." Harry responded, finding his nails suddenly very interesting. "But he's not a friend, I don't really even know him. He's just…interesting." Harry finished, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Interesting. As in, you'd like to chat with him and see what other hobbies and traits he has that make him so…interesting."

Harry could tell Snape was mocking him, but it was almost in a comforting familiar way and he found he didn't mind that much. It was much more civilized than anything Ron would probably say.

"Yeah, I guess."

"I've also noticed the Slytherin you've been checking out from across the Great Hall during meal times; Miss Darcy Etain." Snape added, smirking as Harry's stuttering got worse.

"I heard Darcy was good at quidditch, it's purely to check out the competition." Harry responded, the blush starting to fade only a tiny bit. They had just reached the chamber entrance and Harry hissed at the door to open.

Snape didn't answer, his snort of disbelief was enough.

"It doesn't matter anyway. I don't think it's a good idea for me to date while the war is still on, I don't have the proper time for it." Harry said, holding his lit wand out and stepping forward. He attempted to sound confident and mature in his decision, and Snape's calculating look threw him off.

"Perhaps not." Snape nodded in agreement, and Harry wasn't all that surprised. It wasn't as if Snape was going out every night to find someone, and Harry figured that the war made that next to impossible for him anyway. Come to think of it, Harry had no idea if Snape had ever dated before. He must have, but Harry didn't know anything about it and doubted Snape would share. Was Snape even straight? He'd not reacted at all about the Hufflepuff boy that Harry had found easy going and nice to chat to in Herbology class.

"You're not bothered by Euan?" Harry asked, pulling on his shirt as he tried to look anywhere but at the large dead snake at the front of the room.

"He is one of the lesser annoying of that house that I've had the displeasure of meeting." Snape answered, circling the basilisk.

"I meant that he was, you know, a guy." Harry tried to say smoothly. His cheeks felt like they were on fire.

"Are you familiar with Mr. Ollivander's speech about the wand choosing the wizard?" Snape asked, putting down his bag.

"Yeah. He made me try a whole bunch of different wands before we found one for me."

"I should think then that you wouldn't be surprised to find it similar for dating. What was your first thought about Mr. Heathcote? That you wanted to have sex with him?"

"I, what? No, I just thought he was interesting to talk to about his art! Jeez, I don't go around thinking about people I want to shag right then and there." Harry replied, wondering how Snape could be so nonchalant while talking about sex. Harry still blushed when he thought about the books Snape had given him over the summer.

"So not Miss Etain either?" Snape asked. "No vulgar and depraved teenage fantasies?"

"No! Darcy's good at quidditch, I told you that. She's a bit scary too, I heard she's a good duelist."

Snape nodded at this and Harry fidgeted a little.

"What happened to Miss Weasley?" Snape asked, reaching into the snake's mouth and breaking off a fang. Harry shuddered at the sight.

"She's like a sister to me. That's…no. No interest."

"Indeed. So you are choosing people based on commonalities over attractive physical features, which is what you should be doing if you wish to avoid dating someone you'll want to murder after a few short months." Snape commented, sounding very rational. Harry still wasn't quite used to this side of Snape, the side that provided rather good advice.

"So…you don't care that I might date a guy." Harry asked again, shaking his head slowly.

"You could bring home the muggle Prince Harry and I wouldn't care. _Anyone_ you are interested in will be facing me for an interview of their intentions."

"I'm not a girl, you know." Harry smiled softly, watching Snape move deftly around the basilisk.

"I am well aware that you're a boy." Snape replied sternly, giving Harry a look that made Harry feel warm inside. "I am also aware that you're rather naïve and easily distracted, and I want to ensure you're not entranced by some trollop who wants to trade in on your name."

Snape huffed at Harry's snickering before directing Harry to hold his wand light higher and make himself useful.

Snape yanked hard on a fang that seemed to be imbedded, and the snake's head moved a little with the effort. Harry followed the line of the shadow to a darker stain on the floor, and realized that it was his own blood. Three and a half years gone by, and his blood still marked the floor. A lot had happened in that time, since the eternally long five minutes he'd spent thinking he was going to die there from snakebite. He'd gained and lost a godfather, watched a fellow student be murdered, unwillfully resurrected Voldemort, and became someone's son.

Three years was not nearly as long as it should have been.

"How do you not have nightmares from this?" Snape muttered, placing a vial next to the neck of the snake and drawing out blood.

"I do." Harry replied, picking up the fang that he stabbed the diary with. It still had a bit of his dried blood on it, mixed with the black ink. He suddenly felt rather queasy.

Snape, his two bags now full of skin, teeth, and the shedding they'd found outside the chamber, looked up and saw Harry hug himself while staring at the fang. Snape knew that stance, familiar with it now after witnessing a few of Harry's breakdowns during the summer. A few minutes longer and Harry would most likely be overwhelmed, rightfully so. Snape cursed the Headmaster in his mind, for allowing a twelve year old to fight a creature not even the Ministry of Magic could handle.

"Time to go." Snape stood, holding out his hand for Harry's. Harry snapped out of his thoughts and glared at Snape.

"I can walk on my own, _Dad._" Harry said, in a perfect petulant teenager tone.

"Be that as it may, _Elliot_, I have no idea how you wish to manage that up the slippery tunnel."

Harry's mouth opened and snapped shut as he had no response for that.

"I'll figure it out." Harry said with determination, leading them out of the damp chamber.

It took only a few minutes to reach the skeleton room again, as Harry called it, and Harry stared at the slimy tunnel they'd descended from. It looked rather impossible to go up, unless Harry could figure out some sort of sticking charm for his feet.

"I've carried you to bed three times in the last five weeks." Snape pointed out neutrally.

"I was six!" Harry sputtered, his face reddening in embarrassment. It wasn't quite a valid excuse, as he'd only been physically six and not mentally, which Snape seemed to recognize as well.

"Thank Merlin for that, I'd have put out my back otherwise." Snape responded dryly, grabbing Harry's shoulders and pushing him forward, facing away from Snape. "And Hogwarts doesn't cover parental injuries."

Harry didn't get a chance to respond to that as he felt himself rising up into the air, Snape's hands picking him up from under his arms. It was much like the staircase incident, but this time much cooler because Harry could see and Snape was bloody _flying _them out of the tunnel.

"You…but..we..air, you can fly!" Harry blurted, twisting to check that yes, they were flying fully under Snape's power.

"Stop squirming!" Snape admonished, holding him tighter. "And if I ever hear you breathe a word about Peter Pan I shall poison you in your sleep."

"Forget Peter Pan, can you teach me how to fly? Please sir? You won't have to get me anything for Christmas, just teach me how to fly." Harry babbled, sounding more like his six-year-old excited self than the sixteen year old he was.

Snape said nothing, continuing to fly them upward and smirking warmly at the fact that Harry seemed to be ridiculously impressed by his talent. He didn't notice that in addition to the collections in his bag, Harry had snuck a small fang of the basilisk into his own robe pocket.

…

There was nothing to it. It was nearing the end of November and due to the heavy snow squalls outside the castle all quidditch practises had been postponed. Harry sat in the dormitory on his bed, the map spread out on his rumpled bedcover and the basilisk fang on his dresser. Hermione sat against his bedpost, smiling as Harry's toy dragon awkwardly ran along the map, pouncing at the name labels that were moving in the corridors.

"That came from a muggle store?" She asked, laughing when the dragon growled at Trelawney's nametag, which was circling its foot.

"Yeah. Snape enchanted it, and the wizard. Kermit's my favourite though." Harry smiled, twirling his wand in his hand.

"Where'd you get that name anyway? Kermit the dragon." Ron asked, sprawled out on his own bed. The other boys in their dorm were causing a ruckus down in the common room.

"Must have seen it somewhere." Harry offhandedly said, keeping his face neutral. He had not gotten the name from a children's muppet show that he'd watched as a child a few times. It was just a coincidence.

Hermione gave him an amused look that Harry ignored, his eyes catching a small flicker on the map instead.

"Did you see that? I swear I just saw Fenrir Greyback's name next to the mirror tunnel on the fourth floor."

Ron lifted his head and Hermione leaned forward to scour the map, but none of them could see any name other than regular students wandering around the library.

"Point me Fenrir Greyback." Harry muttered, tapping his wand on the map. It blurred for a few seconds, confusing the dragon, before coming back into focus and not displaying any sign of change.

"I guess I saw wrong." Harry said, rubbing his wand against the side of his temple. "Anyway, the trophy room is clear. I say we go tonight and destroy the horcrux."

Ron stood up and stretched, putting his jumper on over his t-shirt.

"I'm up for it. We'd better not let Snape catch us though."

"Don't you think you should tell him, Harry? Or maybe Professor Dumbledore?"

Hermione was standing again now, folding the map as Harry put Kermit in his bedside table drawer.

"Dumbledore wants me to do this." Harry waved his hand dismissively, pocketing Sirius' penknife. "He wanted me to save the philosopher's stone in first year, and he sent me Fawkes in second year to save Ginny. Why else would he give me the lessons about horcruxes? It's my destiny." Harry mocked.

Neither Hermione nor Ron could think of an answer for that, so they headed out. They walked in silence through the halls, Harry nodding at some of the younger students who looked up at him with shock. Maybe when the war was over he'd get his eyes fixed, cover his scar, and dye his hair so he'd be less easily recognized.

"I still think Snape might kill you." Ron commented when they'd finally gotten into the trophy room. There was still a full hour to go before curfew.

"He didn't kill me when I was drunk over the summer, I'll probably just get a lecture for this."

"Harry Potter! You were drunk over the summer at Snape's house?" Hermione gasped, her voice low but still echoing in the room.

"He found me drunk." Harry corrected, moving over to the cabinet that housed the badge. "In his town, which I didn't know was his. Well, I didn't know he lived there. Anyway. Long story short, I'll never eat onions again." Harry picked the lock with Sirius' penknife, grateful that it had more attachments on it that worked despite the blade that had been destroyed at the department of mysteries. He missed the puzzled looks his friends were giving him.

The cabinet suddenly popped open and they all stared inside, waiting for the badge to jump out at them. It didn't move, and Harry felt falsely brave after a moment. He reached in and pulled out the plaque, his finger brushing the bottom corner of the badge. His finger pulsed, the same strange pulse he'd experienced as a child when he'd accidentally touched the metal prong part of a plug while sticking it into the wall. He checked his watch and noted that the face hadn't gone red, but that it felt a little warmer than normal. Or perhaps that was his nerves. Hopefully they could destroy the horcrux without the watch signaling Snape. Maybe he could get Snape to turn down the warning a bit the next time he was at Snape's flat.

Harry put the plaque on the floor and Ron and Hermione drew their wands. The trophy room was lit enough with a few candles for the to see what they were doing, but not bright enough to make it look like someone was in there. Harry pulled the basilisk fang out of his pocket and noticed the prefect pin shudder slightly. Harry suddenly got a peculiar feeling in his stomach, but they were here now and it would just take a simple stab.

"Harry, are you sure this is a good idea?" Hermione asked, gripping her wand with white knuckles.

"It's been locked in a cabinet for fifty years, Hermione. Its not like Riddle can just pop out it, like the diary, right Harry?" Ron asked, not sounding as if he believed a word of what he said.

"If this thing comes to life," Harry murmured, holding his hand steady with his grip tight around the fang, "make sure you tell my dad that I thought it'd be best to catch it unawares."

Hermione gave him a nervous look and Ron gasped as Harry lowered the fang over the pin. It started to hiss in a nasty and predatory tone, as if it knew what was coming. Harry felt a chill as the candlelight flickered and he touched the edge of the crest with the fang. The tiny green snake carved in the centre of the Slytherin crest suddenly flashed black and reared up off the metal, striking with lightning precision at the underside of Harry's palm, near his pinkie finger.

"Fuck!" Harry cursed, slamming the fang down on the crest in panicked force. The plaque emitted an inhumane moan, which Harry heard mixed in with his friends shouting his name. Images flashed in his mind as his palm pulsed, a tall dark haired boy standing over a body that was sprawled out on the floor, green light flashing, the same dark eyes that had stared hungrily at him before when the memory of Riddle had been released.

His vision flashed back to the trophy room, which was rather blurred and suddenly very warm. He was dimly aware of Hermione knocking the little metal snake away from his hand with her wand and Ron stunning it. He was dragged back from the smoldering plaque, now cracked right down the centre and the pin destroyed. Harry had a very dry throat suddenly, and his hearing began to fade. He felt a painful throbbing heat in his arm, but he wasn't quite sure if it was from the snake's bite or the watch, which was most likely flashing bright red now. He found himself hard pressed to care as he slowly slipped into darkness, and heard heavy footsteps running towards them from out in the hallway. They clicked on the stones, as if the wearer had a pair of boots or dress shoes on.

Ron was right. Snape was definitely going to kill him.


	7. Chapter 7 A Presence of Mind

AN: Thanks to my wicked readers. I'm writing this story for fun and it's so nice to see others enjoying it too. :) Also, thanks to Pygmy Puff of Doom for the tree name.

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Ch 7 - A Presence of Mind

_A blueish damp fog encircled the trees in the distance, a breeze is heard through the greenery but the air is so thick around him that it doesn't reach the depth of the grounds. Harry's feet walk of their own accord, the too-long hem of his jeans becoming wet with the morning dew of the grass as he passes the rows of stony timelessness. He wants to leave, he wants to go home where it's noisy and the sun actually warms him, but he's powered on, turning down a small path and ducking under the low hanging branches of the yew trees scattered throughout. He can't see that far ahead, the background is strongly blurred, but that doesn't seem unnatural at the moment. _

_He stops in front of a marker, the gravestone lovingly framed by a slow growing ivy vine, its leaves gently resting on the top of the stone as if in search of a shoulder to lean on. Without his conscious doing, Harry's fingers reach out, and he notices that his fingers look older; they are tanner and encrusted with dirt, small nicks and cuts around the knuckles that seem slightly swollen. He is alone, but he feels like he is quietly joined by another, when the latter's engraved name is traced over gently by his fingers. He can't read the name, and the sense of calmness that had originally filled him now starts to slip away, pushed out of his chest by a slow ache. He's been here before. He knows this cemetery, he knows…A small laugh is heard from the dense fog behind him, a teenager's laugh that barks in ugliness and cuts across the rows of stones. He's heard this laugh years ago, echoing off a different set of stones in a faraway chamber. Harry watches in horror as the words under his hand, the ones he's tracing absentmindedly, catch up to his brain and he reads them like Braille. _Potter_. The letters shift, forming another familiar word. _Snape. The last enemy that … _His stomach lurches, and suddenly he feels like throwing up everything he's ever known._

"Dad!" Harry gasped, coughing into his pillow and jerking his legs around on the bed. He didn't care how foolish he looked or where he even was, as long as he was not in the cemetery. That he was back at Hogwarts.

A sudden shuffling noise to his left side caught his attention, and he hung onto the sound as if a life line, blinking rapidly and trying to lift his head from the pillow. It must have been a dream, as he was lying in a bed. There was a black blur suddenly standing beside him, and a heavy palm placed on his back. Harry squinted as whomever stood beside him gently rolled him to his side. It was dark, much darker than the infirmary would normally be. But why would he be in the infirmary? Harry tried to move his body and groaned at the residual ache that traveled up his arm. Right, the horcrux had attacked him, which would be why he'd expected the infirmary. Which meant that the black blur…

"You are a colossal and unequivocally rash idiot." Snape muttered, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Harry's shoulder and contradicting the annoyance in his words. A thermometer was then thrust under his tongue and gentle fingers raised his eyelids, a bright lumos spell making them dilate as Snape checked them. Harry groaned, batting away Snape's cold hands. A finger was placed in front of him and he was poked until he opened his eyes and followed Snape's finger, his gaze moving perfectly, or as perfect as it could get at three am. Whatever Snape for looking for, he seemed to be satisfied with the results and let Harry go.

Harry scrunched his eyes closed again and whimpered as he curled up on his side, drawing his knees to his chest. Harry had no idea what time it was, but the room was rather dark and Snape was paler than usual, with dark rings around his eyes and thin lines of worry around his mouth. He'd probably been out for a while, then. Harry didn't remember much after the badge attacked, just a feeling of panic, cold, and the sensation of being lifted up.

"I…" Harry started, trying to get his thick tongue to move. A glass of water with a straw was placed in front of him, and Harry gratefully sipped it. He still felt a residual chill in his body; the cold cemetery had seemed very real.

"Shut up, Potter. Had I known it would be this much…" Snape trailed off, looking worn out. The hand stopped circling and Snape moved to put the water glass on the table.

Harry snapped his head up, unable to hide the brief flicker of panic in his eyes. Snape hadn't called him by his last name with that level of pure agitation since before the summer. Had he crossed the line? Snape had said before that the adoption was permanent, but Snape was human and Harry knew that everyone had their limits. The bed dipped as Snape sat down beside Harry, cradling his head in his hands and snagging his fingers in his hair. The hair cascaded over Snape's face, and Harry couldn't tell what Snape was thinking.

The small curly bit at the end of Snape's hair moved with his exhalation of breath, and Harry watched him carefully. He ignored the persistent prickly feeling in his hand and drew his knees tighter to himself.

"Are you, are you giving me back?" Harry whispered, knowing he probably sounded ridiculous. Snape had never said he would, but Harry figured he was well within his rights to. He just couldn't seem to avoid getting into trouble, and the dream had left him feeling rather exposed, similar to how he felt as a six year old.

"No." Snape replied, raising his head but leaving his hair to obscure part of his face. "I will not give you back, Elliot." Snape left unsaid what they both knew, that there wasn't really anyone to give Harry back to.

Harry let out the breath sitting on his chest and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Don't." Snape stopped him, holding up his hand. "I am very angry with you right now and I don't want to hear any of your excuses."

Snape glared at Harry, but Harry could see the concern etched in his eyes around the anger. Disappointment was there too, and Harry felt like a failure.

"Yes, sir." Harry replied, not blinking away the sharp twinge in his eyes. The hand was suddenly returned to his back, and the small rubbing circles between his shoulders started again. He felt like a ridiculous child, but Snape had never begrudged him for seeking comfort before, and Harry realized that Snape perhaps didn't mind giving it. At east, not to Harry when he most needed a solid presence.

"What was the nightmare about?"

"What?" Harry asked dumbly, distracted and embarrassed by how comforting Snape's hand on his shoulders felt.

"You awoke in a cold sweat after being in shock. All other vital signs have been normal for the past few hours. You…called for your father. I assume you had a nightmare."

Harry looked down towards his knees and closed his eyes.

"I called for you." He said, picking absentmindedly at the blanket. "Can't you give me that cream again, the one that makes my nightmares go away?"

"No. It leaves you vulnerable and you've had enough of the Dark Lord's influence tonight. That, and it has similar properties to a babbling beverage, and I have no desire to hear your stupid reasoning for attempting to destroy the horcrux unaided."

Harry suddenly felt even guiltier. A few tears leaked out from his eyes, and Harry thought it was ironic that he finally had a dad who would comfort him after a nightmare, but he'd gone and done something stupid and blown his chance. He wiped his face against the pillow, leaving it there so he wouldn't have to face Snape anymore.

Strong and calloused fingers suddenly carded through the hair on the back of his neck, gently guiding his head to turn a little so he could get fresh air.

"Tell me about the nightmare, Elliot."

Harry allowed himself to sink further into the pillow, and the tenseness to seep out of his shoulders as he took a deep breath and started to describe the cemetery he thought he'd been in.

…

Harry woke up alone in the small guest room, still buried under the covers but with a cold foot, as one seemed to have snaked its way out from under the blankets sometime in the early hours. He dragged himself out of bed, checking the bandage on his hand. It was small and neatly wrapped, despite the tossing and turning he'd done in his sleep, and Harry knew that Snape had been the one to apply it, not Madame Pomfrey. Harry eyed the uniform folded neatly on the chair of his desk and looked down at his outfit. He'd been changed into the grey striped pajama pants he kept there, and was wearing Snape's Aberdeen potioneers shirt. Harry stood and looked in the mirror, noting the darkening around his eyes and the paleness of his skin. He knew he should probably change into his uniform, but Snape had never demanded he come to breakfast in day clothes before. Indeed, on weekends during the summer Snape had sometimes arrived in his dressing robe and slippers.

Making up his mind, Harry grabbed two thick and random socks from the dresser drawer, took a deep breath, and walked down the hall towards the kitchenette.

Harry sat very quietly at the breakfast table, eating his toast with pumpkin butter and for once not tasting it. The coffee seemed darker and more forbidding, and the rustle of newspaper was very loud as Snape sat stiffly in his chair and read the Daily Prophet. Harry pushed his plate of toast away and stared at the picture of a happy wizarding family waving at him. It was an advertisement for Terror Tours of Diagon Alley, who were apparently having a sale on trips to the Bermuda Triangle. Good for them, Harry thought sullenly.

Just when he'd thought that he couldn't feel worse by having to listen to Snape tell him what he'd done wrong to disappoint the man, Snape found another way to torture him. Currently, that entailed sitting calmly at the breakfast table and letting the discussion hang over their heads, nagging at Harry's conscience. He wasn't accustomed to this. At the Dursleys it had been easy to know what was coming, to expect the sudden outburst of immediate anger. But Snape was a different man entirely. When irate, he exploded and made unreasonable demands about things, like getting Harry expelled. When he'd had time to reflect, however, Snape was calm and calculating. And even though he'd been that mad the night before, here he was sitting with Harry at the breakfast table, ensuring Harry had enough food to eat. Harry wondered if stuff like this was easier for Ron to face, having grown up with parents who knew how to lay on the guilt. Maybe Ron was better at ignoring the horrible feeling in his gut.

When the clicking of the clock on the fireplace mantel unnerved him just enough that Harry was about to demand Snape yell at him for his stupidity, Snape neatly folded the paper and stared right through Harry.

"I expect you to be fully dressed in your proper uniform and back at the table in twenty minutes. We will be having a discussion about your behaviour."

Harry saw that while Snape looked to be going about his morning routine as normal, his words were clipped and his mind seemed to be very preoccupied. Harry slipped from the table with a yes sir.

…

Harry stumbled back into the living room with three minutes to spare, tightening his tie as he landed at the table. His school robe wasn't with his pile of folded clothes, but Harry saw it through the crack of the hallway door, hanging up next to Snape's teaching robes. He was dismayed to see that Dumbledore had arrived, but from the look on Snape's face it appeared that Snape hadn't expected the headmaster either.

"I believe he has come to ensure your wellbeing." Snape commented, catching Harry's look. Dumbledore ignored the comment completely.

"Good morning, Harry. I trust you slept well?" Dumbledore smiled, peering over his glasses at Harry.

"Er, not really sir. I had nightmares and I've a sore arm." Harry mumbled, not sure if he should complain or if it was best to keep his mouth shut.

"Ah, likely from the tetanus vaccination. Not a spell for that, I'm afraid." Dumbledore answered.

"Tetanus?" Harry repeated, his face blank.

"It's not every day someone is bitten by a fifty year old metal snake." Snape responded across the table, his sarcasm a welcome comfort from the anger.

"You did give us a bit of a fright, my boy." Dumbledore winked, sounding rather unconcerned about the whole thing.

"I didn't know it would do that." Harry mumbled, playing with his tie.

"Of course you didn't. No one knew it would do that, which is why I told you not to bother with the horcrux yet." Snape snapped, causing Harry to shrink a little in his chair. Snape had told Harry not to worry about it, in the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry had grown frustrated about leaving the horcrux just sitting there.

"But, what if someone got detention with Filch to polish the awards? Anyone could touch it or take it." Harry asked, staring straight at Snape. Dumbledore might be the headmaster, but Harry was most concerned about gaining Snape's respect back.

"Come here." Snape commanded, pushing his own chair back but remaining seated. Dumbledore was waiting politely by the bookcase, listening but not commenting. The mood in the room was rather awkward; as much as Harry didn't want to be admonished in front of Dumbledore, it seemed Snape was hesitant about going into full parent mode with his employer present as well.

"What did I tell you when I almost dropped you down the stairs last week?" Snape demanded, grabbing Harry's arm and maneuvering him to stand very close to Snape. Harry caught Dumbledore's curious expression before he was standing trapped, locked between Snape's knees and needing to look down at Snape to meet the man's eyes. Harry winced, remembering standing in this same position in Amsterdam and hating how uncomfortable it made him feel.

"To listen to you. Even if I don't understand why."

"No." Snape tapped his fingers irritably on Harry's arms, ignoring Dumbledore's small cough. "I told you that I might order you to do something seemingly dangerous or useless, but that you would have to _trust_ me. Trust me to amend that appalling sense of self preservation you have."

Harry's cheeks burned and he stared at Snape's shoulders. Snape had said that last bit over the summer to him as well, had made it as a promise.

"We just thought it should be destroyed before anyone could find it." Harry mumbled. "And before it realized what we were going to do."

"The first horcrux you faced possessed your friend and petrified people with a snake, and the second one you knew about fatally cursed the headmaster's hand." Snape growled, his dark eyes capturing Harry's gaze. Harry thought it was a very odd time for him to notice that Snape's eyes were not pure black like everyone thought – they had tiny flecks of brown in them. "And yet you didn't think this one would do you any harm? Because you're Harry Potter and you've enough dumb luck to survive what it could do?"

"Severus, I believe Harry was merely trying to do the right thing."

Snape turned around to glare at the headmaster. "I will _not _have you encouraging your idiotic Gryffindor impulsiveness for rash heroism."

"As you wish, Severus, but he did manage to destroy the fourth horcrux." Dumbledore smiled lightly with a wave of his hand, almost knocking over a tiny cauldron on the bookcase.

Harry noted with interest that the involuntary tick under Snape's right eye seemed to be something that not only he could cause.

"Do not even think of awarding house points." Snape gritted, keeping his focus on Harry. "There is a restriction based on this flat preventing the giving or taking of them."

Dumbledore looked surprised at this, and Harry smiled very discreetly to himself. He suspected Snape quite enjoyed catching the headmaster off guard.

"Is there? I must say I am surprised, Severus, given your consistent use of the house point system."

"This is a home, Headmaster. School punishments are separate, and remain outside of these walls, at school." Snape responded irritably.

Dumbledore beamed, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He wondered what Snape would do for punishment this time. Over the summer he'd gotten a rather long bout of grounding, but Hogwarts required more discretion, as it wasn't known outside of Ron and Hermione that Harry visited the dungeons every week. He hadn't lied, so thankfully there wouldn't be any mustard on his tongue. He had, on the other hand, endangered his life and gone against what Snape had told him to do, and Harry was quite certain that put him at the top of Snape's shit list for a while.

"Elliot." Snape said, drawing Harry's attention back to the conversation.

"Your eyes have brown in them." Harry blurted stupidly, blinking. He barely missed Snape's eyebrows narrowing in confusion, before Snape spoke.

"I…am aware of that. Do you understand what you did wrong?"

Harry's shoulders fell slightly as he took in the question. That was new. Uncle Vernon usually just told him exactly what he'd done wrong, whether it was Harry's fault or not. Harry stared down at the watch on his wrist, at the small patch of stubble under the left side of Snape's chin that the man had missed shaving, and the lack of sleep that appeared in his dad's eyes. He thought about own night, of how Snape seemed to have already been in the room when Harry woke. He must have been there most of the night, to make sure Harry was okay.

"I put myself in danger. I didn't trust you, and I went after something by myself that could have seriously hurt me." The words flowed out, and Harry found them strangely cathartic. They came out fast, like the automated response that he normally gave his uncle, but they gave him a sense of redemption he'd not felt before. He felt like a damn child again, and while it was annoying, it was refreshing to not feel angry for being punished. Snape nodded and seemed to wait for Harry to come to the conclusion on his own.

"I forgot that I don't always have to be the hero." Harry mumbled, trying to ignore Dumbledore standing off to the side. Dumbledore, who'd always given him the extra push to defeat whatever came at him.

"You will learn." Snape said, and he released Harry. Harry stepped back and leaned against the table, feeling lighter than he had been when he woke up in the morning. Snape stood and moved towards the kitchen, putting the breakfast dishes in the sink for the house elves.

"And you will write me a two foot essay on what it means to depend on others." Snape held up his hand to prevent Harry from saying anything. "You are also grounded for the next two weeks, and that means spending your weekends here. I am certain that an excuse can be made."

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, conveying an annoyed look and a request all in one.

"I'm sure something can be arranged." The headmaster smiled.

"Lastly, you will not be going to Hogsmeade for the last weekend before the holidays. I do hope you have all your shopping done." Snape's tone was sarcastic, but it went over Harry's head as Harry snapped to attention.

"You're not cancelling Christmas?" Harry clapped his hand over his mouth and tried to school his expression into an uninterested one. He was embarrassed to give away that this Christmas, his first real one with a family, was something he was really looking forward to.

Snape saw the look and decided to play it down while they had company.

"Not even I am a powerful enough wizard to cancel that bothersome holiday." Snape replied calling for a house elf. Harry watched in amusement as Dumbledore switched three books on the bookcase around, disturbing the order Snape had them in.

"I shall be taking my leave, Severus, Harry. It seems I have forgotten which book I came to see you about." Snape's glare could have bored holes into the back of Dumbledore's robes, but Dumbledore paid no notice as he walked by Harry and gave Harry a quick pat on his shoulder.

"The punishment will go by fast enough Harry, don't worry. You did an excellent job finding the horcrux; what's done is done." Dumbledore commented, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Except when you've got a time turner, right?" Harry grinned, suddenly feeling cheeky again.

"Excuse me?" Snape said, coldly from the kitchen. Harry's eyes widened as he remembered just how belligerent Snape had been when Sirius had escaped that night in his third year.

"Potter with a time turner, my my, what could he possibly get up to with one of those." Snape continued, his voice turning silky and making the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand. Snape stared right at the headmaster, and scowled when Dumbledore waved good day and made for the door.

Harry had never seen Dumbledore looking so mischievously guilty before.

Dumbledore slipped out the door and Harry wondered if he had a chance to grab another slice of toast from the kitchenette before heading to class. Now that the talk was over, Harry suddenly felt back to normal.

"I can just imagine what Professor Dumbledore would get up to." Harry commented with cheerful and feigned innocence.

"Doubtlessly." Snape halted him on his way, snagging Harry's jumper and spinning him into an awkward hug. Harry was tense for a few seconds before he let himself sag against Snape. Harry never would have thought to ask for a hug, but it did feel nice after the discussion. It felt like forgiveness.

"I'll try to not be self sacrificing in the future." Harry promised into the thick black wool that his cheek was pressed against. Snape smelt like old spice deodorant and faintly of carbolic soap.

"Good boy." Snape murmured, and Harry wasn't insulted by the boy term. He went to step back but suddenly found Snape's arm tighten around him, and the voice grow deeper.

"Famous Harry Potter, learning to share the heroism. Time turner extraordinaire." Snape continued, and Harry tensed. Uh oh.

"Technically it was Hermione who…" the fingers tightened around his ribs and Harry let out a giggle. He'd not known as a child that he was ticklish, and he cursed it now.

"You will soon find that there are a few things both you and I would very much prefer I never know about. That, or my suspicions regarding the incidents are never justified. Confirming my very strong belief that you had something to do with freeing that wretched mongrel on the night I was stunned by three students is one of those things."

Snape's grip was tight enough to almost be painful, and he was talking above Harry's hair, not looking down at him.

"Good idea, Dad." Harry agreed, giving a quick hug back before squirming away to get to class before he could get into any further trouble.

…

Herbology class that day let out early due to a rather enthusiastic batch of Maythistle Maple trees that the first years had been growing for the sap. The right combination of fertilizer and care had indeed lead to healthy and robust plants; which were now attempting to germinate thousands of helicopter shaped seeds all over green house four, rendering it rather useless for class. Grumbling about not wanting to be stuck in a room with tree sperm scattered everywhere, Ron quickly suggested a visit to Hagrid with their free time and the three set out immediately.

"Snape's not going to suddenly pop up around the corner if you go outside, will he?" Ron asked, pulling on his bright orange Cannons hat and mitts.

"No. I'm grounded on the weekends, but he's letting me be during the week." Harry shrugged, putting his coat on.

"That's remarkably fair, Harry, considering how worried he was about you." Hermione answered, pulling her scarf tightly around her as they walked out the front door.

"I … he gets like that. I don't really remember what happened after the snake bit me last night anyway." Harry admitted, his cheeks flushing red. From the cold outside, Harry told himself, not in embarrassment.

"You swore pretty loudly." Ron answered, grinning at Harry.

"You would have too." Harry smarted back, holding up his still bandaged hand.

"Yes well, all joking aside Harry and Ronald, it was a scary sight. That thing had a mind of it's own and there was that horrible moan it made when it bit you." Hermione shuddered, hooking her arm through Ron's.

"Wait a moment. Why do you always Ronald me, and never Harold him?" Ron asked, kicking a clump of snow ahead accidentally and hitting the back of Harry's trousers with it.

"Because I think I'm just Harry." Harry answered, shrugging the snow off his leg and throwing Ron a mock dirty look. Hermione nodded and kept walking.

"What does Snape call you when you're in trouble?" Ron asked, his smirk rather evident.

"Elliot. But he has this way of talking, making it sound like he's more disappointed with me than mad. I don't know how he does it, but it's really gets to me." Harry replied, pulling his coat collar up more to cover the top of his shoulders.

"He's guilt tripping you, Harry, to put it bluntly. It's a form of getting the point across that keeps your attention and targets your basic instinct to make him proud of you. The disappointment hits where it hurts most."

"Thank you, Dr. Granger." Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"She's right, mate. Mum can lay it on thick like the world is ending if she wants to."

"That I'm familiar with, Ron." Harry laughed as they slipped a little down the path to Hagrid's. There was a glowing orange light in the window, and smoke coming from the chimney, making the house look cozy and warm against the storm.

"He was the one who was running down the hall, wasn't he? The boots on the floor?" Harry asked, remembering bits of the noise that had exploded in the trophy room.

"Yeah. He didn't even yell at us for being there, just pushed us aside and went straight to you, checking to see if you were possessed or something." Ron answered.

"He ran about ten body scans on you before he let Professor Dumbledore near you, and cleaned the snake bite himself. He took you down to the dungeons, instead of the infirmary, and made us tell him three times what had happened." Hermione added, a slight smile on her face.

Harry had a stupid smile on his face as well, but he kept his gaze forward on Hagrid's door and was proud of himself for remembering to ask Hagrid for more chunks of metal before they went back to the castle for dinner.

…

Detention started bright and early on Saturday morning, and much to Harry's surprise, he did not have to clean Snape's flat for it. He figured that the house elves were in charge of cleaning all the staff's quarters, which was quite fine by Harry. Snape sat at his desk, dressed down in a collared black shirt with grey trousers, his hair hooked back behind his ears as he marked essays, one or two stray strands dipping down towards the scroll he was perusing.

"Drop your bag by the door and pick up the knife on the kitchen table, I want those ingredients finely chopped and in three separate bowls." Snape commanded, not looking up from his work.

Harry did as told and walked over to the kitchen, his nose twitching unpleasantly at the smell. It was rather familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. His stomach grumbled unhappily, as he'd rushed to get breakfast down and get the metal bits from Hagrid before going to Snape's.

Coming upon the bowl, Harry discovered just how sick Snape's sense of humour was. There were three different bowls and a large chef's knife on the table, along with two Spanish onions, a bunch of chives, and two bundles of green onion. He remembered that awful night in Stockport, throwing up his dinner and the beer, and the smell, oh how the smell of fried onion had invaded the bathroom they'd been standing in and seemingly seeped under his skin.

Harry made it through one bundle of green onion by forcing himself to think of ice cream, chocolate frogs, and butterbeer that he hoped Ron and Hermione would be bringing him back from Hogsmeade when they next went. Harry took off Snape's old blue sweater that he'd been wearing and took a deep breath by the couch, before returning to the table and starting on the Spanish onions. Those, he discovered, fought dirty. Not only was the smell stronger, but Harry felt his eyes prickle with each slice and the tears start to fall spontaneously. Had he not been afraid of unsettling his stomach further, Harry would have laughed at the ridiculousness of his reaction.

"I thought you weren't going to use school punishments for stuff at home." Harry said, plucking at his t-shirt collar and hooking it over his nose. He didn't care how bizarre he looked; the smell was now making him seriously consider revisiting breakfast.

"I am not." Snape answered, not looking up from the desk.

"What? You're not making me chop this up for some potion or whatever?" Harry asked, poking the onion with his knife for emphasis.

"Stir fry." Snape deadpanned, snatching another scroll and unfurling it to read. "I freeze what I don't use."

Harry blinked, unsure of what to say to that.

Twenty minutes later, Harry used the reprieve he'd been granted to scrub his hands and face in the washroom, working to get the smell of onions off his skin. He walked back out to the living room, shifting off balance when he noticed Snape staring at him. It wasn't a 'you're in trouble' stare; it was more the look Snape normally gave a potion in class that had gone spectacularly wrong.

There was hot chocolate sitting at the table though, next to a plate of shortbread cookies, and Harry focused on that instead. There were quite a few books piled beside the plate, ledgers of house bills, insurance records, and tax receipts that Harry had seen Snape rifle through a few times. He wondered if he'd be helping sort those out next when Snape interrupted his thoughts.

"Part of the reason I did not wish for you to destroy the horcrux is because I needed to study the effects it had on the object housing it." Snape said, his tone rather serious.

"I realized that after." Harry answered quietly, accidentally burning his tongue on the hot chocolate.

"Naturally. Hindsight is twenty twenty, after all. Regardless, I have found a way that I do believe will destroy the horcrux in your scar, without causing you grievous personal injury, and we shall most likely try it in the new year."

"That's great." Harry beamed, ignoring the part that meant he'd probably be also facing Voldemort in a final fight in the new year too. Snape was still studying him with piercing eyes, and Harry found them slightly unsettling.

"Yes. Perhaps." Snape summoned a piece of parchment that had a rather detailed sketch of a human brain on it, including the subsections of the different areas of the brain that controlled the body and its skills.

"Your scar contains a small portion of the Dark Lord's soul." Harry nodded in agreement as Snape transfigured another parchment of paper into a clear film, like the overhead sheets muggle teachers had used in Harry's primary school. There was a strange black blob on it, and Snape put it down on the brain. "Now we know from the diary and from what I heard of the badge, that bit of soul is capable of independent thought of varying degrees. The question is, by removing the horcrux, how much of the Harry Potter you are today will disappear as well."

Snape slid the film over the brain, the dark spot overlapping bits of the brain involved in speech, fine motor skills, memory, taste, and logic. Harry looked at horror at the amount of brain covered.

"But, isn't that bit of him just considered extra? Not a replacement for my brain?" Harry stammered, eyes not leaving the sheet.

"I have no idea. This is why I wanted to study the horcrux, but unfortunately, you are now the last one left."

Harry took another gulp of hot chocolate, not even wincing as it hit his tongue. He felt rather chilled, and was willing to bet that his complexion had gone ghostly white.

"I am refining my solution, to preserve as much of you as I can, should it come to that." Snape said softly, conveying to Harry with his eyes instead of words that whatever was lost; Snape would help teach him again. If possible. After a minute of silence, Snape pushed a roll of parchment towards Harry and handed him an inkpot with a quill.

"Get started on your dependency essay, I want it to be done by lunch time. After lunch we will go over the household budget plan you have started for your fictional flat."

Snape stood and stretched, levitating his own marking back to the satchel sitting by his desk. As he passed Harry he stopped and laid his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Now is the time when you need to fully trust me." The hand squeezed once, and Harry nodded. There was something to be said about having a strong, strict, tough as nails potions master supporting him.

As Snape headed towards the hall where his bedroom was, Harry suddenly remembered what he was going to ask.

"Are we still going to Holland for Christmas?" There was an edge of hope to his voice that Harry kicked himself for. At the Dursleys, if he'd seemed even remotely excited about anything they'd been determined to ruin it for him.

"Do you think you deserve to go back to Amsterdam?" Snape countered casually, leaving Harry to think.

There were three weeks left until Christmas and he was determined to earn his trip back.


	8. Chapter 8 Christmas is all around

AN: there's an author's note at the bottom to explain a few things. Also, someone asked in a review if I hate the smell of onions myself, and the answer is absolutely. I have no idea why, but they've always made me queasy. This chapter is a bit fluffy, and I have no excuse for that. ;)

* * *

Ch 8 - Christmas is All Around

Harry couldn't help but get swept up in the excited buzz of the students just before Christmas holidays. Classes were lighter (except for Snape's), there were sounds of badly sung Christmas carols in the halls (except around Snape), and the great hall was decked out in massive Christmas tress once again. On the very last evening, when trunks were packed, students wrapped up and whisked off to the carriages for the train, Harry covered his trunk in his invisibility cloak and went for a walk, levitating it in front of him. He made his way to Professor McGonagall's office and wished her a happy holidays as he flooed away home to Stockport.

Harry didn't know if a house elf had come to clean Spinner's End while they were at Hogwarts, but as he stepped though the iron fire grate he took a deep breath and for once felt like he'd come home. Snape was in the kitchen, taking dinner out of the oven, and told Harry to take his stuff upstairs before coming for dinner. The sheer difference between being welcomed home with acceptance versus hatred made Harry nearly trip up the stairs with energy.

When he came bounding back into the kitchen, Snape was giving him an odd look and starting on his own dinner. Typical English chicken potpie, with chunks of vegetables in it that the steam just poured out of when Harry cut into his.

"Dad?" Harry asked, taking a gulp of milk to sooth his burning tongue. He knew the food was hot but couldn't resist a mouthful anyway. "How much of that potion do you have?"

"What potion?"

"The one that, you know. Shrinks me." Harry divided up another chunk and blew on it to cool it.

"Enough. Why, are you planning on de-evolving over the holiday?"

Harry coughed at the question and refused to look up, instead becoming very interested in the peas that were in the dinner.

"I don't know. I mean, it's more a kid's holiday, isn't it?" Harry stabbed at one of the peas and accidentally sent it careening against his glass of milk.

"It's also your first real Christmas since you were a baby, correct?" Snape asked, cutting straight to the point.

"Yeah." Harry answered, looking up and cursing the slight blush he could feel on his cheeks. Snape studied him for a moment before putting out his hand and wordlessly summoning a vial from the fridge. He placed it on the table next to Harry's plate.

"You may decide then if you want to spend Christmas as a six year old." Snape finally said, returning to his dinner.

Harry wasn't sure what Snape saw in his expression that made him decide that, which was actually better. Harry was very much looking forward to a real family Christmas, and figured in the body of a six year old and under the guise of that set of emotions, he'd be able to get away with more childish forms of comfort and entertainment over the holidays.

"However, you are not to take that until after we get the tree," Snape shook his finger at Harry's fake groan, "as I will not be dragging that home myself, you lazy sod. And you will return to your sixteen year old body on the 27th for the Weasley visit. If you think Molly Weasley harps on you now to eat, just wait until she sees what a scrawny runt you were at six."

"What? You don't bother me about it." Harry pointed out, taking another mouthful.

"Of course I don't. Half the antidote is a nutrient potion, can't you taste it?"

"No. To be honest, they all taste rather like ars…"

"Thin ice, boy." Snape threatened with his knife pointing at Harry. "Thin ice."

Harry grinned and shoved more potpie in his mouth, to avoid saying anything else.

….

Christmas eve was spent in the living room, watching borrowed television from the neighbours again while the miserable weather outside rained. Snape sat in his chair by the fireplace, pretending to read his muggle health sciences journal and scowling at the childish cartoons on tv. Six-year-old Harry slouched spread out on the settee, hot apple cider on the floor beside him. He had the knit blanket from his bedroom draped over his lower body, one sock clad foot hanging over the edge of the couch as he watched Rudolph the red nosed reindeer prance around on screen.

Harry grinned with perverse satisfaction, wondering what his cousin was doing now. Normally, Dudley would be playing a computer game or watching tv, pigging out on the cheap Christmas biscuits and candies that Aunt Petunia always put out. He'd make sure his stocking was hung in the dead centre of the fireplace, and the biggest one out of the three. He'd make fun of Harry, mock him for never getting any gifts, and thunder up the stairs to bed to await the goldmine of presents in the morning, and Harry making breakfast for everyone.

Not this year. Harry stretched and yawned as the commercial started, scratching idly against his forehead. It was not yet nine pm, and he was very warm in the room with the fire and cider. He smiled, feeling completely content for once.

"That is a stupid looking grin on your face." Snape suddenly said, not looking up from his journal. "I cannot believe you find this children's tripe amusing."

"Happy Christmas to you too." Harry replied, grinning wider as he stood up and clutched his blanket.

An hour later found Snape still sitting in his chair, the local news turned on and periodic updates of Santa's progress through the world broadcast, a little boy curled up in his lap with a mop of messy black hair tucked neatly in the crook of his neck. A small hand clutched at his housecoat, and the boy's breathing moved evenly in time with Snape's. A cup of spiced eggnog sat on the little table beside him, and after checking to make sure Harry was completely asleep, Snape flicked his wand at the tv to switch back to the cartoon channel, in time to catch the beginning of the only Christmas movie he'd ever liked as a small child. The sounds of Charlie Brown filled the room and Snape wrapped the blanket around Harry's thin body as he sat back and enjoyed the first Christmas eve he'd celebrated at Spinner's End since he was seventeen.

….

Harry woke up at six thirty in the morning on Christmas. The air in his room was rather chilly, just the way he liked it, and the blankets very warm. Harry stared at the ceiling and imagined what he would find downstairs, if he'd find anything under the tree from Snape. If he deserved anything. It was a foolish fear, as Snape so far had proven to be a very providing guardian, as often as he tried to hide it.

Harry rolled over and stared around his room, his eyes following the curve of the east coast of Africa on the world map wallpaper opposite his bed. If he couldn't get back to sleep there were always a few books on his bookcase he could flip through, as he didn't think Snape wanted to be woken before 8 am, no matter what day it was.

First though, he'd make a pit stop at the washroom. Three mugs of cider the night before really had been pushing the limit, Harry thought as he shuffled his feet on the cold wooden floor and slipped out into the dark hallway. Snape's bedroom door was closed, as Harry expected it would be, and the bathroom subway tile floor was freezing cold as he made quick work of his pit stop. Returning back to his room, Harry paused when he took notice of his bedroom door.

A thin navy blue knit stocking hung from the door handle, with Harry's name stitched in white at the top, and a green patch over the heel of the stocking. It was stuffed full of things, lumpy in the centre, and just waiting for Harry to find it. Another glance to Snape's door confirmed that he was the only one with a stocking, and curiosity won out over patience. Grabbing the goody bag, Harry slipped back into his bedroom and climbed under the covers, dumping out his prize.

Three little mandarins popped immediately out, followed by some small Christmas chocolates, a chocolate frog, a new toothbrush, a book of crossword puzzles, a deck of playing cards with Russian landmarks on them, a toy golden snitch, three post cards of Amsterdam, some tooth flossing string mints, and a pair of Ballycastle Bats mittens.

They were small little things, trinkets really except for the toothbrush, but all things that Harry liked and would be useful for him to have. Not caring about the time, Harry opened one of the chocolates and started flipping through the crossword puzzle book.

Snape knocked on the door an hour later, finding Harry munching on one of the mandarins, and playing solitaire with the Russian cards. He offered a gruff good morning, before telling Harry to put warm clothes on and wait until Snape told him he could come downstairs. Harry felt ridiculous for a moment as he debated with himself what to wear, before deciding to just put on a long-sleeved Gryffindor Quidditch shirt that he had gotten in first year and grown out of quickly. He had to shrink it a little to fit now, but it was much better than his other shirts. He was still in his grey flannel pajama pants, and decided in the spirit of Christmas to put on matching green woolen socks.

The smell of percolating coffee wafted up the stairs before long and Harry also caught a whiff of baking pastry. Finally Snape's call came and Harry left his room, deciding to leave the stocking up there. He walked down the dark stairs, shivering a bit with the cold air, and stepping on all the spots that creaked. He could hear a fire crackling in the library and pushed open the door with a smile on his face. He felt like an over excited six year old, and it was the first time he could ever remember feeling that way about Christmas.

The room was lit up by the hot fire in the fireplace and the candles that were lit in the tree. Blue, silver, and green baubles twinkled in the flickering flames and tinsel hung down between the old tin and pressed metal ornaments that Snape had dug out from a box in the cellar. Under the tree was a smile pile of gaily wrapped gifts of odd shapes and sizes, and on top of the tree stood a small silver winged fairy that had an impish smile and winked at Harry as he took in the sight. Two steaming mugs of coffee sat on the coffee table next to a plate of fresh sticky buns and Snape was sitting in his housecoat and slippers, one leg crossed over his knee, not quite succeeding at keeping the pleased smile off his face.

"Happy Christmas, Elliot." Snape said, waving his hand at the gifts. Harry dove at the tree with a grin on his face, dividing the presents into piles and stacking them by Snape's chair and his spot on the couch. Harry finally settled into the settee, a small box in his hand and his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, before he looked up to ask permission to start opening gifts. Snape gave him a curt little nod, and in the corner of the room the wireless radio turned on and Christmas music started playing.

The first box, which had been tagged _from Dad_, turned out to be his own babelfish translator. Harry's jaw dropped as he looked up towards Snape, amazed that he'd actually gotten one. Modifications had been made to this babelfish as well, Snape told him, that allowed him to hear both languages at different volumes as they were being spoken. Harry could turn that feature off if he wanted, but Snape theorized that it would make learning the language easier.

A gift to Snape from Mrs. Weasley brought a laugh from Harry, as it was a family recipe book. Professor Dumbledore sent Snape expensive chocolates and a box of lemon sherberts for Harry, and a large gift bag that read _From Santa_ in writing that looked suspiciously like Snape's brought Harry five different packages of athletic socks in four different colours. Hermione sent Harry a thick book full of family crests and different icons and symbols of the wizarding world, which he could use for carving, and Ron sent some joke books from his brothers' shop. Professor McGonagall gifted Snape with a camera, and Harry was amazed to see that there was even a gift for Snape from Ron and Hermione. It was only a small gift certificate to an apothecary, but to Harry it was the perfect offering of an olive branch. Snape seemed satisfied with it as well, as he placed the certificate in his wallet and put the card on the fireplace mantel with their others.

After donning his customary Weasley sweater (this year a steel blue-grey), Harry snacked on a sticky bun and inspected his next gift from Snape. The mirth in Snape's eyes as Harry gently shook the rectangular box did nothing to allay his concern that it would be something embarrassing, and he thought the thunk noise the box made sounded rather familiar, like a video tape almost. Putting the plate down, Harry went to open the paper and shook his fingers as Snape sent a scourgify spell to get the sticky icing off his hand. There was eye rolling as well but Harry ignored it completely and ripped open the paper to find a VHS tape of A Muppet Family Christmas.

"I have been informed that your Fraggles make a most riveting appearance in this film." Snape commented, his eyes laughing at Harry from behind his coffee mug.

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Harry scrunched his face playfully, flipping the tape over to read the movie synopsis. He was embarrassed and amused, but also touched that Snape's gifts seemed to be something he'd put thought into for Harry.

"Not on your life." Snape confirmed, picking up his next present. It was a long rectangular box, a bit wider than an Ollivander wand box and just as thick. Harry watched with intense nervousness, as this was the gift he'd worked hardest on. Snape unwrapped the paper carefully, unlike Harry, and his eyes widened at what the tissue paper inside the box revealed. He held it up for inspection, and Harry was ridiculously pleased by the look of surprise on his face.

It was just a piece of wood, a chunk of maple that had started out in Hagrid's hut and had been found by Harry one afternoon when he'd gone over for tea. After several hours of work on it, the wood now had a delicately carved cauldron outline at the bottom, and a wisp of shimmering steam rising from the cauldron and waving up the board, into which a path of drilled holes were made. It was a cribbage board; Harry had gotten the idea for the design after staring the Advanced Potion Making textbook that Snape had given to Harry. The little peg markers, which Snape was now sliding out of their hiding spot in the base of the board, were actually tiny ladle replicas of the ones that they normally used in class, a bronze set and a pewter set for the different players.

"This is exquisite." Snape commented in a soft breath, inspecting the markers. "You made this?"

Harry figured he wouldn't be able to stop grinning for a week. He'd impressed Snape. Snape was actually impressed by something he'd done.

"Yeah. You banned me from Hogsmeade, so Hagrid had to get me the metal. But I made it all myself."

"You deserved to be punished for your idiocy." Snape answered distractedly as he ran his fingers along the path of holes that lead to 121. "Thank you. This is a very nice gift."

"Welcome." Harry answered back, suddenly wanting to not make a big deal of things. "Thanks for the babelfish, and the video and the socks." Harry stood and stretched, cracking his toes as he did so.

"The socks were from Santa, as the tag read. Do I appear as a jovial overweight man in a red suit to you?" Snape answered with a pointed look, causing Harry to nearly double over laughing at the mental image that had immediately popped into his head.

"Now, help me get rid of the paper, we'll put your insufferable movie on the television and I shall break in the board by thoroughly skunking you in a game or three." Snape continued, putting the board on the table and sending the dishes into the kitchen.

Harry figured that this was his best non-Hogwarts Christmas ever, and didn't even mind when Snape won all three cribbage games in a row, nor when he teased Harry for singing along with the movie.

…

New years eve was a very cold day by Amsterdam standards, winds whipping through some of the streets, making Harry feel every degree of that minus ten Celsius temperature. He didn't care one ounce, however, instead just choosing to wrap himself up further under his scarf as he and Snape made their way out of Amsterdam Centraal Station. Harry looked around with a satisfied smile on his face, enjoying the wreaths, garland, and fairy lights that lit up store windows in the old canal houses that marked the path down to Dam square, where by the flashing lights and loud music he guessed there was a carnival on.

He followed Snape through the crowds of families out for a walk on the last day of the year, grinning at little kids who were dressed in new clothing and eyes dancing from the sugary holiday treats they'd had. They hopped on a tram, Harry standing beside Snape and swaying as the tram jerked over the train tracks. Harry was reminded of the first time he'd ridden a Dutch street car in the summer, as a small little boy who was squashed in the seat between Snape and the side of the car, staring out the window in awe. Not much had changed, barring a few feet in height, Harry thought as he again stared out the window at the passing scenery.

The tram spat them out at Leidseplein, the very busy social square that was filled with tourists and Dutch people getting an early start on the celebrations for the evening. Street acrobats were performing in a circular space across from the tram stop, the few trees in the area were all lit up with Christmas lights, and there was a small clearing where a ice rink had been set up to go skating. Harry looked at it longingly as they walked around it, and it was a look that Snape didn't miss.

"If you wish to risk your neck on a sheet of ice, be my guest." Snape offered, nodding his head towards the skate rental booth. Six and seven year olds spun around the tiny rink, laughing at the encouragement and jolly yells from their parents as they went around.

"I'm good. Maybe another day when so many people aren't watching." Harry shook his head, content to just watch the kids skating.

"Merlin forbid, a Potter doesn't want to be the centre of attention." Snape drawled, but it lacked the disdain that sentence normally carried from him.

"Tomorrow's a new year." Harry smarted right back.

"So it is." Snape conceeded with a smirk.

Snape lead Harry through a group of drunken German teenagers to a small building at the northwest corner of the square, bright red lettering flashing a logo for Boom Chicago. Harry stepped in the door after Snape, passing through the tiny bar at the front and stopping at the ticket booth. Harry let his hair fall forward, the length longer to make him look a bit older and his glasses folded away in his pocket. Snape had done a temporary fix for his vision, similar to muggle contacts, and he'd let a scruff growth sprout up on his chin to match the picture in the fake passport Snape had made.

He looked like he had when they'd gone to London to meet Dennis Bishop, but this time instead of appearing like a sullen teenager, Harry was dressed in dark jeans, a black tee shirt, and a black fitted suit jacket. Snape was similarly dressed, though his scarf was a grey plaid one, dissimilar to Harry's red and black one. The waitress led them to the second floor balcony, a spot Snape preferred because when the show started, he did not want to be in the line of sight of the comedians. Harry personally thought this was a brilliant strategy.

Dinner arrived and Snape set up a localized muffliato, ignoring the chatter of the other theatre patrons around them.

"My research is done." Snape started, taking a sip of his beer and watching Harry's reaction carefully. There was very little doubt over what the subject of conversation was.

"And as I've destroyed the fourth horcrux, there's nothing left to stall." Harry answered, putting his fork down.

"No." Snape answered, still keeping his eyes locked on Harry's. "I am quite certain the headmaster has ideas of a final battle at Hogwarts with a large audience and a plethora of participants. I, however, would prefer a much smaller scale surprise meeting."

"Sort of like a plaster? Pull it off quick and it doesn't hurt as much as a long drawn out pull?" Harry's unease at discussing his destiny was evident in the way his hands shook while he cut his steak.

"Similar theory, yes. The Dark Lord is fond of grandiose speeches and is intent on putting you in his place."

"Yeah. In front of as many people as possible so he can prove he's unbeatable." Harry added, his sarcasm heavy.

"Don't interrupt." Snape narrowed his eyes. "I have a few ideas of how to accomplish this, but we will need to make a more detailed plan once back at school."

Harry nodded and took a drink of his pop. "I won't be facing him alone, will I?"

"I will be there." Snape answered immediately. "To protect my investment of time, of course."

Harry smiled uneasily and pushed his food around on his plate.

"And the potion you made, that's going to kill the horcrux inside me?"

"Yes." Snape answered, noting that the theatre was filling up nicely now.

"Am I going to die?" Harry then asked, looking like he'd steeled himself for the question.

Snape appeared to be considering giving Harry some of his beer, but soon thought better of it.

"Not if I've done everything correctly." Snape finally answered, tipping his bottle towards Harry's plate. Harry got the hint and slowly started eating again.

"Will people recognize me after? Once my horcrux is gone?"

At this Snape rolled his eyes.

"Are you planning on growing devil horns and turning your skin purple? I believe they will still recognize you, if that's the case."

"Well no." Harry grinned, spearing another piece of steak. "But you said I would lose some bits of me when the horcrux was gone, 'cause you didn't know what was horcrux and what was stuff from me."

"Ah. Mental abilities will likely be somewhat corrupted." Snape answered, before continuing with his meal. "Similar to brain damage after a traumatic event, though I intend on remedying whatever problems arise as best I can. Your physical looks will stay the same."

"Oh, so I might just be a bit barmy, that's not too bad then." Harry breathed a sigh of relief, almost giddy to the point of giggles. He'd been terrified that he wouldn't remember his own name, wouldn't remember the face in the mirror that he looked into. Or worse, wouldn't realize that his lack of recognition was a bad thing.

"A bit barmy." Snape repeated, giving Harry his "you haven't understood a word I've said all day" look.

"You've had the horcrux since you were fifteen months old. By extension, it was there while you learned to talk, learned to feed yourself, learned how to use the toilet, learned to write, read, count, fly, dress yourself, cook, clean, do magic, and play. Any of these activities could be affected or lost when the horcrux is destroyed."

Harry stared at Snape as he swallowed his mouthful of food. Fifteen months was not that high up on the evolutionary scale, and even though Harry knew that the horcrux inside of him had to go, the challenge he faced doing it quite frankly scared him. Not knowing the most likely outcome at all would almost better than this guessing game at what would be lost.

"You'd teach me all these things again, if I forget how to do them?" Harry asked, trying not to sound hopeful that no matter what happened, Snape would stick around.

"Yes, Elliot." Snape sighed, sounding put out and very sarcastic. "I will help you learn to read again, eat properly without dribbling food on yourself, make sure you don't break your neck the next time you hop on a broom. I will even potty train you, as embarrassing as that will be for the both of us." Snape rolled his eyes and took another sip of beer.

Spotlights from somewhere to the back left of the balcony turned on and flickered around the room before focusing on the stage. Harry hid his smile as he looked down on his plate, twirling his fork. Going into battle knowing that someone would be waiting for him on the other side, no matter how he came out, made the war suddenly feel not quite as impossible as before.

"Thanks, Dad." Harry said sincerely, catching Snape off guard in a blush.

"Yes, well. Shut up and eat your green beans, the show is about to start." Snape replied, looking uncomfortable but accomplished.

…..

Once the comedy show was over they stepped back out into Leidseplein and noticed a marked difference from earlier. It was quarter past eleven, and the crowd had turned into a much rowdier adult one, most in varying states of inebriation as they sang and laughed together. Fireworks were going off at random intervals around them, boxes of noisemakers that drunken revelers were setting alight in doorsteps of pubs. Snape paused by the Irish pub on the north side of the square, checking his pocket map for the quickest route up to Dam square, where the palace was, and Harry started laughing as he listened to the song some people at the bar were singing. The words came in Dutch, and his babelfish translated most of the non-slurred ones. Harry got the gist though, and snickered while they toasted a young man named Youp and sang about his pet rabbit that went missing, only to turn up again for the family Christmas dinner. Harry was fighting a wide smile as Snape lead him away and they reached the end of the song, when the boy's father ended up missing the next day and was implicated to turn up later, 'round dinner time.

"That is a disturbing song." Snape muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground and quickly side stepping some small firecrackers that had been tossed along the street to startle people.

"Poor Flappie." Harry replied, grinning madly.

They passed over three bridges, the canals filled with lit up houseboats and people blaring music, heading up towards Kalverstraat. Turning a corner to a smaller street to cut through to Rokin, Harry blinked as they came upon two groups of teens with roman candles, seemingly using them in battle against each other. They paused to allow Snape and Harry passage, before starting again and shrieking with laughter. _Mad_, Harry thought, shaking his head. These people are absolutely mad. To his left more loud crackling started, a box of noise makers sparkling in the street and people gleefully shouting as they passed it.

The noise only got louder as they approached Dam square, huge speakers set up around the area fading out the last bits of No Doubt's Don't Speak, one of the more popular songs of the year. Another started, a very camp sounding song that sounded more like something Harry would expect from an outdoor festival, but the crowd seemed to love it if Harry were to go by the cheers and laughter. The vocals started and the crowd jumped right in, making Harry wonder if his babelfish was working properly. They all seemed to be singing about a train.

"We're going to the De Bijenkorf." Snape leaned in and stated loudly, confusing Harry further. They were going to the beehive? Snape, noting Harry's confusion, shook his head and pointed towards an old and impressive department store on the north side of the war monument, the old fashioned white lettering on the side reading out the name De Bijenkorf. Its windows were framed in sparking white lights and wreaths hung down in patterned intervals, the bottom display windows lit up each in their own different coloured lights, the Christmas trees inside flashing white and silver. At the top of the building's rounded edge roof lay garland and bunches of what looked like red holly berries. Harry could just see, if he squinted right, people walking around on the roof.

"That's the best place to watch the fireworks." Snape explained, leading Harry to a non-descript and muggle-invisible door next to the shuttered main ones of the department store.

"You've been here before for new years?" Harry asked, surprised.

Snape handed over their tickets to the doorman, who briefly glanced at Harry's ID. He was grateful that Snape had covered up his famous scar. The doors to the store closed as the crowd sang one exuberant "kedang kedang!" of the chorus.

"Yes, with a cousin of mine when I was much younger. I was not nearly this sober at the time." Snape responded with a glint in his eye.

"I can't really picture you as a troublemaker when you were a teenager." Harry said, as they stepped on the elevator to go up.

"I am insulted that you assume I would have gotten caught." Snape replied, tapping the back of Harry's head.

Once they'd reached the roof, Harry and Snape stepped out to see a mini street fair set up for wizards and witches. There were small little booths identical to the ones on Leidseplein, selling holiday pastries and drinks, a carriage with different souvenirs from Amsterdam, cotton candy, chocolate frogs, dark salted licorice cauldrons, and multi-flavoured fizzing whizzbee drinks. At the far end of the roof, opposite the edge that looked down onto Dam square, was a small stage and a group of Dutch musicians that Harry had never heard of before playing the latest in Dutch wizard rock, standing beneath a large blue-glowing hourglass that was counting down the time to the new year.

"Do you want a doughnut?" Harry asked, startling Snape out of his concentration. He'd been lost in thought while staring at one of the flags behind them, at the beehive/honeycomb logo of the department store.

"Pardon?" Snape asked.

"A doughnut. Or…oliebollen." Harry tried to pronounce as he pointed at the snack carriage displaying an array of rounded doughnut balls in varying flavours. The cart also had a selection of poffertjes, small mini pancakes dusted in powdered sugar, and what looked especially good to Snape, the stroopwafel. Thin rounded waffle pieces held together in twos by a layer of thick caramel syrup between.

"An excellent idea." Snape agreed, pulling some galleons out of his pocket.

"I saw you staring a the beehive picture earlier." Harry said moments later, in-between biting off chunks of doughnut and getting powdered sugar all over his mouth and chin.

"Mmmh." Snape responded, the caramel of the stroopwafel still hot and stringy in the cold air.

"Wouldn't that be wicked? Dump a beehive over his head and let them do the job." Harry was grinning, enjoying his own imagination. "I can just picture Voldemort running around, screaming 'I'm covered in bees!' while the other death eaters tried to figure out what to do. What can you do to bees? Is there a spell to kill them?" Harry asked, taking another doughnut ball from the bag.

Snape merely raised his eyebrow as if to encourage him to continue. Snape had found at times like these, it was best to let Harry go and be amused at the random dribble he postulated.

"The killing curse won't work, cause those little buggers are fast and unpredictable. You can't summon them either, well you could but not even I'm stupid enough to summon something with a brain the size of a fish egg and a stinger on it's arse."

Snape snorted at this, evidently thinking of the death eaters he knew who would try to summon them that way.

"There must be some sort of pesticide spell or something. Mrs. Weasley probably knows it or it's in one of her household books. I bet it's really easy, too. Just walk around and shout exterminate! Or something like that." Harry finished his doughnut with flourish, looking amused by logic.

Snape, caught up in the imagery of deficient death eaters summoning a hive of bees from a panicked Dark Lord's head while a crazed Harry Potter ran around in true Dalek form, waving his wand and commanding everything that moved to 'exterminate', started laughing. It was a deep laugh, one that sounded not used nearly enough, and Harry found it intriguing. Snape didn't smile all that often, but the laugh lines fit his face perfectly and his hair shook out of his eyes while he chuckled.

"There is something seriously wrong with you." Snape responded when he'd caught his breath.

"Yeah, well, there's about to be." Harry smiled back, still in a good mood but still nervous about what was to come.

A chime sounded from both the wizard stage and the crowd below to start the countdown. In the spirit of things Harry counted backwards in Dutch, his eyes whipping over the eager faces in their crowd and the chants of anticipation from the muggles below. Snape was standing silently, but there was a bright light in his eyes as he watched the last grains of sand for 1996 run out of the hourglass.

"Happy new year!" Harry shouted, full of excitement. His mouth dropped not two seconds later as the city literally exploded in front of him. Fireworks from below rocketed up in multicolored streams and a group of security wizards set off a bundle to rival any creation Fred and George could have created. He barely felt Snape's hand on his shoulders, a strong grip that turned him slowly to get a 360-degree look of the bursts of colour. Harry blinked rapidly as he watched, quite certain he'd never seen anything like this before. It was almost as if the Dutch were at war with the night, and were determined to drive it off with screaming vibrant explosions.

"The only time I have ever seen anything to rival this, Mr. Potter, was when you defeated Voldemort the first time." Snape commented softly, his voice not reaching past either of them. The use of Voldemort's real name was not lost on Harry as he turned to look at Snape.

"I expect to see it again this year, Elliot." There was a soft look in Snape's eye, a trusting look that told Harry that Snape was very confident in Harry's abilities to succeed again.

Small trails of smoke started to drift off around them as the fireworks continued, the city lighting itself up in flashes throughout the neighbourhoods in mostly unofficial displays. As Harry leaned over the rounded roof edge and watched the celebrants below, he knew for a fact that he would not let Snape down.

* * *

AN2: both songs mentioned in this chapter were popular in '96 (I don't remember that new years at all), and the descriptions are accurate for that time of year in Amsterdam. Which is one of my favourite times of year, ever. To see a video of just how Amsterdam explodes, check out on youtube JenEstel's Amsterdam Fireworks 2009/10, the best clip I've found so far, starting 30 seconds in. watch?v=3T5_Uzt9jVU


	9. Chapter 9 Mercy Earned

AN: The cider in the last chapter is the hot non-alcoholic version that you usually get in the fall. I did not mean the usual apple or pear cider you get in a can (or make) that gives you quite the buzz. :) The next chapter will probably come on Monday or Tuesday, so not too long of a wait.

* * *

Ch 9 - Mercy Earned

January started absolutely miserably at Hogwarts. A sudden snowstorm swept through the area the first weekend students were back, and pre-Christmas grades had all been returned, adding a sullen mood to the common rooms of the four houses. Whereas in the last semester there were still holiday festivities to look forward to, it was now just bleak winter surrounding them. Harry sat in the back of the fourth floor History of Magic classroom with Hermione and Ron, tuning out Binns completely as he stared at the snow piled up against the stone corner of the windowpane nearest him. It looked freezing outside, and the stone wall didn't give much illusion in the way of warmth or comfort.

Harry sketched idly on his note parchment, drawing little stick men and crudely figured death eaters facing a hive of bees, very much like the image he'd told Snape about in Amsterdam. Binns seemed to be getting his second wind about the Battle of Kerrowmoar, and Harry wondered if in fifty years Binns would be lecturing about the boy wizard who sat in his class and planned the demise of Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War. Looking down at his badly animated stick figures, which were unsuccessfully summoning the beehive, Harry amended his statement. The boy who sat in class and came up with stupid ideas.

After History of Magic and dinner, Harry and his friends slowly made their way back up to Gryffindor tower. It was likely to be full of students with slight cases of cabin fever, but the night was too bitter cold to spend anywhere else and with luck, they could sit in Harry and Ron's dorm while the other boys lounged in the common room. Passing through the portrait hole, Ron stretched on the other side and made a beeline for the notice board, where a bright parchment had caught his eye. Apparition lessons would be starting soon for those turning seventeen that year, and a wide grin broke out on Ron's face. He jabbered all the way up to their dorm about how brilliant it would finally be to learn to apparate, and Harry smiled along. Harry was looking forward to apparition, but he was more excited about learning to fly. Snape, having realized from the _Advanced Potions Making_ textbook that Harry learned much better by reading the instructions, theory, and examples; had written out a small fourteen page booklet all about learning how to fly. He'd also spelled it so only Harry could read it, as it was a rare skill and one that was best kept unannounced in Harry's arsenal.

They were due to start the practical flying lessons in February, and Harry was determined to have memorized Snape's manual by then. For now, since he'd gotten all his homework done for the evening, he sat on his bed and set the marauder's map out once more. Ambrose the Wizard and Kermit the Dragon, glad to be out of the nightstand drawer, walked all over the map in an attempt to keep up with the students trudging back and forth from the library and great hall respectively.

Hermione sat on Ron's bed, leaning against one of the bedposts with her homework in her lap, her legs stretched out and feet tucked under Ron's crossed legs, but Harry wasn't sure that it was for warmth. The room was rather warm, a steady fire going in the old fashioned stove in the centre of the room; the smell of snow soaked woolen clothes mixing with the drying terrycloth towels that were draped over the thin wrought iron grate that surrounded the stove. Harry's window was slightly cracked open, allowing a tiny breeze of fresh chilly air to enter, causing the corners of Dean's football posters to flutter slightly.

Harry sat silently for a few moments, parchment resting on a book on his lap as he stared at the letter he'd written. Merely half a foot long of parchment, and he'd run out of points to make.

"Hey Ron, your brother Bill is a curse breaker, right?" Harry asked, tapping on Peeves' nametag and making Kermit pounce on it.

"Yeah, for five years now." Ron replied, snatching a set of notes from Hermione.

"Has he ever come back with…well has he ever been hurt on the job?"

"Loads of times." Ron scoffed, pretending to not be bothered when Hermione glared at him and took her homework back.

"Really?" Harry was suddenly curious, as other than the fang earring and a faint scar on the back of Bill's hand, he looked remarkably unblemished.

"'Course. He lost three of his toes permanently one year, turned his skin purple last June for a month and a half, banished his own clothes more times than I can remember, oh, and he has a hell of a time getting our names right."

"Your names?" Hermione asked, re-wetting her quill expertly and without spilling a drop on the bedspread.

"He never calls us by the right names on the first shot. Usually calls me Fred or Charlie. Even Ginny gets called something different. That started a year after he went to Egypt." Ron was obviously amused at his brother's troubles, but Harry knew the ribbing was good-natured. With the exception of Percy's treachery for the Ministry, the Weasleys were a very close-knit family.

"So no one cares that he's not quite right all the time?" Harry asked casually, staring at the moving names on the map.

"Nah. Not all of us can be perfect." Ron answered, flexing his muscles in an obnoxious attempt to flirt with Hermione.

She smacked him on the shoulder with their transfiguration textbook.

"What are you worried about, Harry? Charlie has all sorts of dragon burns and gashes on his arms, no one says anything about them either."

"Just thinking ahead." Harry shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "I'll have to face Voldemort soon, and I'm just thinking of what might happen. The prophecy isn't exactly encouraging."

Both Ron and Hermione stilled as they looked at him. Neither had been told what the exact contents of the prophecy were.

"Can you tell us what it said, Harry?" Hermione asked gently.

Harry stared at the map and then at his toys, before helping Ambrose climb up onto Kermit and ride on him for a while.

"Neither can live while the other survives."

The room was deadly quiet for a few moments, save for the scratching of Kermit's feet on the map and the toy's occasional hiccup.

Hermione gave Harry a calculating look, before answering carefully.

"Madame Pomfrey's always been good at putting you back together."

"Yes, she has been." Harry agreed with a small smile.

"I reckon Snape won't let you do anything too stupid." Ron added.

"Just make sure that if I lose my mind, you two are the ones who give me my memory back. I don't want him knowing everything we've done here." Harry grinned, suddenly feeling better. It didn't matter if he came back from the battle missing an ear or thinking that the sun was green. Ron and Hermione would be there for him.

"We haven't been that bad." Hermione stated, sounding affronted. "You two have broken many more rules than I have."

"Mmm. Remember Aragog?" Harry asked Ron, the latter whom visibly shuddered.

"Are you sure you want that memory back, mate?"

"Why not, I've got other nightmares now." Harry laughed. Hermione, who'd been filled in on the trip to the Forbidden Forest back in their second year, looked like she wanted nothing to do with the memory either.

"Hey look, Malfoy's on the map." Harry suddenly pointed with his wand, noticing Malfoy again by the fourth floor library. Oddly, three house ghosts and Dumbledore seemed to be in the area as well.

"Did you ever figure out what he was doing by the secret passage, Harry?" Hermione asked, dropping her books and coming to sit on Harry's bed to get a better look at the map.

"No, Dumbledore told me to leave it." Harry mumbled distractedly. He flipped through a page of the map to the dungeons and saw Snape prowling around in his office.

"I think something's going to happen. Tonight."

Kermit wiggled his tail and butt a little as he jumped on Snape's nametag.

"Are you channeling Trelawney now?" Ron asked, sitting up in bed and abandoning his work.

"Ha ha. Not on your life." Five seconds later, a new tag appeared on the map and Harry felt his gut clench.

"But I think that proves my theory." All three leaned over to the tag that had just appeared at the fourth floor secret passageway, to make sure they were reading it correctly.

Fenrir Greyback.

…

While the original definition of chaos theory was entirely too mathematical for Harry's tastes, he did like to use it as a loose definition for the kind of trouble he was generally good at. The one where he went in with entirely too much more courage than brains, something Snape would probably label his Gryffindor hero complex. However, as they ran down the hall with Harry's invisibility cloak bundled in his arms, Harry figured that Snape would probably be best to help them in whatever fight was going to pop up. The only problem was, the dungeons were a time wasting reroute. Just as he was about to call Dobby and ask Dobby to deliver the message, Harry rounded a corner and tripped over a gargoyle's foot, sprawling out on the floor and scraping up his palms.

"Ooww, dammit." His wrist flashed warmly and Harry checked his watch, to see that it was glowing pinkish. Enough to bug Snape, but probably not enough to get him to come, seeing as Harry triggered that level of alarm on an embarrassingly often basis. An idea sprung to his mind and he waved Hermione and Ron away as he kicked at the base of the statue, finally releasing the stone battle-axe. It swung down in an arch towards him, and Harry had barely enough time to roll out of the way before it crashed into the stone floor and chipped itself with a loud clang. This time his watch burned, and it was flashing red. Harry grabbed his map from Ron, who was staring with an open mouth at him, and demanded: "Point me Snape!"

"That was a stupid way to get his attention, Harry!" Hermione finally admonished.

"Yeah, but it worked." Harry answered, pointing at the label of Snape that was moving up the stairs at a rather impressive speed. The trio raced along the hallway themselves, finally slowing down when they reached the small side stairs for the fourth floor corridor. Slipping under the invisibility cloak, the three crept up the stairs and followed the voices of Malfoy and Dumbledore.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, bit of an odd spot for a stroll on this lovely Wednesday evening."

Malfoy stood guarded by the mirror entrance, watching Dumbledore with narrowed blue eyes. "You should know this isn't a stroll."

"Yes, I regret I do. I am sad to see which side you have chosen, Draco."

"Rubbish. I've chosen the winning side!" Draco held his arm up shakily, pointing his wand at Dumbledore.

Harry felt movement as Ron silently held up his arm and covered Hermione's gasp with his hand.

"Have you?" Dumbledore asked gently. "There is a werewolf on the other side of that mirror whom is just waiting for you to make a mistake, and I believe that his means of advancement is a bit more violent than you are accustomed to."

Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed hidden under the invisibility cloak, standing in the alcove near the library hall. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape slip into the shadows by a statue.

"Greyback is a family friend. My father –"

"Your father has lost much over the past year, especially in the eyes of Voldemort." Dumbledore stated, still standing rather calmly. He had not drawn his own wand, but Harry knew very well that he could easily disarm Malfoy.

"That's why I'm doing this, to redeem our name." Draco sneered, jutting his chin out and holding his head highly. "I'm going even further than he asked, and when I succeed, I will be his second in command. Not my aunt, not my parents, and especially not Snape."

Harry was rather taken back by the sheer arrogance of Draco. He wasn't bluffing, he was very confident in himself to step into a game as a mere child, a war that he'd been born into, and take up a role that was far beyond his abilities or understanding. Harry was rather certain that Draco had no idea what horrors awaited the second in command to Voldemort. He looked crazed, drunk with the potential for power, and Dumbledore's gaze hardened.

"Do you think it's wise to divert from your assignment? I don't expect that Voldemort appreciates such initiative."

"He will understand." Draco answered, venom dripping from his words as he steadied his grip on the wand. "Once he has Potter, he will understand."

Harry saw Malfoy finger a small chalice, one with very little decoration on it, which looked eerily similar to the goblets that they used at the tables in the great hall. Harry suddenly got a rather sick feeling in his stomach as he understood what Malfoy had planned. Malfoy probably intended the potion he'd ordered from Greyback back in August to use in the drink that Harry would normally have at a meal in the great hall. At least this time there wasn't a portkey involved, Harry thought grimly.

Hermione stiffened beside him as the mirror opened and Fenrir, in full human form, stepped out. Harry saw Snape stand straighter as well, and that his wand was drawn.

"Time's up for speeches, Dumbledore. Your protection of the innocent little kids of this school ends tonight." Greyback was tapping his wand against his palm and had a wicked smirk on his face. Dumbledore was watching them with caution, and Harry saw the slight twitch of his wand hand seconds before the chalice Malfoy was holding glowed faintly, in a sickly green colour that Harry recognized was a positive result for a portkey check.

"Good evening, Fenrir. That protection was offered to you as a child as well, if you remember. Hogwarts has never turned away a student, even one with lycanthropy."

"I don't need your pity. Soon my kind will be running much more than the forest and backwoods." Fenrir growled.

"You are one of a kind, Greyback, to our good fortune." Dumbledore nodded his head and opened his arms like an invitation and Greyback's eyes took a predatory look. Harry twitched, wanting to jump out and defend the headmaster, fought with himself to stay still. He could see Snape creeping closer.

Harry wasn't sure who attacked first. Draco stood off to the side as Fenrir advanced, and it seemed that Dumbledore almost danced as his robes twisted, catching Fenrir's rush and clothes lining him in the chest. An "accio" chalice was called at the same time, and before Harry could squeak, Dumbledore and Fenrir popped out of existence.

"Shit!" Draco cursed, spinning around angrily. He didn't notice Snape step out of the shadows, nor Harry's wand appear in mid air as they both cast expelliarmus, knocking him out.

Harry threw off the cloak, leaving Ron and Hermione standing slightly stunned.

"I think he's cleared the passageway." Harry said, standing with wand drawn over Draco while Snape incarcerated him with a rope spell.

"Open the door." Snape nodded, rolling the unconscious Draco onto his side. "Granger, fetch your head of house immediately and speak to no one else. Weasley, do something to block the main hallway."

As Ron moved down the hall, conjuring ropes with a 'maintenance' sign to block the hall, Harry touched the solid mirror.

"Through the looking glass." He murmured, noticing the mirror shiver like it had the last time. Inside looked much different; the path was completely unblocked, and there was a large open area at the entrance, filled with a few sacks of supplies.

"This is ridiculous." Snape muttered, before stepping into the mirror and pointing his wand down the long dark passageway. He took a minute to keep his arm steady and aim true before firing a reducto curse that sailed a good two hundred yards down the passage before hitting a curve in the wall and exploding, blocking off the passage way again.

After scanning the map with Harry for a moment, Snape conjured his patronus and sent a coded message out. Harry assumed it was going to the next in command in the Order. McGonagall and Hermione arrived shortly after, and Snape called Ron back to where they were standing.

"We will need to discuss the events immediately with the staff. Summon the staff and have them meet us at the Headmaster's office."

McGonagall sputtered in confusion, but Snape pointedly reminded her that she was deputy headmistress.

"The headmaster summoned a portkey meant for Potter, and is now locked away somewhere with an angered Fenrir Greyback." Snape explained, standing up and levitating Malfoy.

Ron and Hermione shuddered at this, but followed McGonagall as she started for the stairs. Harry followed silently still trying to understand that Malfoy had completely intended to kidnap Harry, and Dumbledore went instead. He was rather angry on one hand, as it had not been hard for Draco to bring a portkey to Hogwarts, and he was a bit unsettled by how easy it would have been for Harry to accidentally touch it.

A very warm and heavy hand found its way to Harry's shoulder, and Harry felt a slight squeeze as Snape guided him to the back stairs and towards Dumbledore's office.

"You will not fight alone." Snape murmured, leaving his hand there for Harry's support. "Though when this is over you will be grounded. Don't _ever_ use the watch like that to summon me again."

"I didn't have any other way, it was the quickest." Harry stammered, knowing exactly how stupid his actions were.

"Says the youngest boy to summon a corporeal patronus in years." Snape responded back sternly. He flicked his wand, dropping Draco a foot towards the floor while he summoned his patronus. Malfoy continued floating along in front of them at a much lower height as the silver doe pranced over to Snape.

"Deliver to Harry Potter. You are forgiven this one time, never let it happen again."

Harry could have sworn the doe rolled its eyes, just by the way it tilted its head. But it did walk over to him and parrot back Snape's message.

"Got it." Harry mumbled.

….

Snape and McGonagall allowed Harry, Ron and Hermione to stay in the headmaster's office while the other teachers gathered for the emergency meeting. They sat huddled in an old armchair that Snape had levitated into the room from…somewhere. Harry thought it might have even been from Dumbledore's personal rooms. The invisibility cloak was folded uselessly in his lap, and they all stared ahead at the desk, not saying a word. Startled reactions ripped through the room as the staff members entered and were informed of the circumstances regarding Dumbledore's disappearance. Malfoy, who remained unconscious and tied up while slumped against a wall, received quite a few glares from the professors as the tale went on.

"To summarize," Snape said, his deep voice carrying around the room and holding every single person's attention, "the headmaster is currently located wherever it was Malfoy intended to portkey Potter. He is accompanied by Fenrir Greyback, an unhinged rogue werewolf that the Dark Lord is rather fond of."

"Can we send Fawkes out to located Albus?" Professor Flitwick asked, his tiny face furrowed into a very serious look.

"We shall try. He wasn't in the office when we arrived." Professor McGonagall answered, nodding to the empty perch.

"Severus, in your time spent – researching – the death eaters, have you come across any sort of containment area that Mr. Malfoy may have chosen to use?" Professor Sprout left off the "for Harry", but she gave a concerned look their way. Crazed wizard or not, she did recognize that the three were merely still children.

"The Dark Lord has many strong holds, but it seems Malfoy took it upon his arrogant self to be ingenious, and-"

Snape was cut off by an eerie groaning noise that sounded like the castle was shifting its old bones in its foundation. The room started to grumble, and portraits woke up with stiff yawns and mutterings while the frames took on lives of their own, slowly shifting around the room. It was rather surreal, and Harry started to feel slightly motion sick from the sight. Snape and McGonagall, who were staring at the wall behind the headmaster's desk, suddenly lost whatever colour had been left in their faces. Harry blinked as another photo frame materialized and began to fill itself in, canvas seeping along the walls from the tapestries in the room, paint slipping off Dumbledore's more vibrant gadgets and impressing into the portrait like a bizarre form of osmosis. Finally, the portrait fully formed, and Harry fought to blink away tears. It couldn't be.

"It seems I am a bit late for the meeting." Professor Dumbledore said, his gentle voice apologetic for reasons other than his mere tardiness.

"Oh Albus." McGonagall breathed, holding her hand clenched above her heart. The other professors lowered their eyes at the sight, and Harry found Snape's black gaze directed straight at him, concern mixed with a flash of pain.

….

Dumbledore's death was not announced immediately, instead the teachers felt it best to delay the notice until everyone had gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast. It had been a very long meeting the night before, and the three had spent it mostly in Snape's dungeon flat. Snape had sent them there, stating that he felt at peace knowing that they could not get into typical trouble wandering about the castle, and Harry had taken his friends down, knowing that Snape really meant that he wanted Harry safe in the flat for the night.

Now, as they watched their classmates stunned looks and horrified eyes, Harry realized that Snape had never told him how Dumbledore had actually died. He probably never would, as it was a death that Malfoy had most likely intended for him. Harry stabbed at a rasher of bacon on his plate as McGonagall's voice strained to keep together during her speech. Draco Malfoy had been an arrogant little prick of a child, but a child nonetheless when Harry had met him. Not six years later, he'd become a power-hungry sociopath who'd planned Harry's murder in cold blood.

Harry pushed his plate away, noting that Ron hadn't touched a single piece of food. McGonagall announced that classes had been cancelled for the day, and that a funeral would take place for Dumbledore on Sunday. Two more lives were ruined because he existed. The greatest sorcerer he'd even known had been felled, and a boy had been carted off to St. Mungo's under heavy guard and a fake name, unlikely to be released for quite a few years.

He suddenly became aware of the speech ending and stood up abruptly, wrapping his cloak around himself much like Snape did when the latter wanted to make an imposing presence. Harry did it out of comfort though, and his friends remained silent as they exited the Hall and headed for fresh, bitter air.

….

Late at night, after Ron and Hermione had escaped the packed common room to go to the Room of Requirement, Harry drew his invisibility cloak around himself and checked his map. He stuck his Kermit and Ambrose toys into his pockets and walked down to the dungeons.

Snape was sitting in his wingback chair, a book in his hands and the candles low. His hair had fallen forward, and Harry figured he'd been reading the same page over and over.

"Hi Dad." Harry said quietly, dropping his cloak on the floor and slumping into the couch.

Snape looked up with a defeated gaze, one Harry had never seen on the man's face before. Harry realized that Snape had spend most of the day dealing with Slytherins who were intimately connected through their families with Voldemort, and in a meeting with McGonagall and Dumbledore's portrait. Details had not been shared with anyone, but Harry had been told enough to know that Dumbledore had defeated Greyback before he died, and that it had not been an easy battle. Harry suspected that he didn't want to know any more.

"I have nothing to give you." Snape exhaled, running his fingers ragged through his hair.

Harry nodded, recognizing that Snape was telling the truth. He'd helped Harry over the past half year with Harry's insecurities, fears, and need for comfort, but this time he couldn't give it. He'd known Dumbledore longer than Harry had, and had probably been much closer to the man than Harry, Hermione, and Ron had ever realized. Dumbledore had always strongly defended Snape; maybe Harry would ask another day how Snape had earned such an honoured level of trust.

Harry sat still on the couch and tucked his feet under him as he glanced around the room. Snape was dressed in loose grey slacks that had a few faint stains on them, most likely from brewing, and a dark blue turtleneck. There was a steady fire burning in the fireplace, small flames licking the blackened stone sides of the hearth, and Harry noted two blue salamanders darting around broken bits of glass surrounding the glowing white embers. The glass looked to be from rounded potion vials, and Harry figured that Snape had smashed them earlier as he dealt with the headmaster's death.

"I don't have anything to give either." Harry commented slightly unsure of what else to say. When Sirius had died last June his schoolmates had just glanced at him with sympathy, and his relatives had avoided him. Sitting with company, however quiet said company may be, was actually helping to comfort him a little in the way of knowing that someone else felt as horrible as he did.

Snape seemed to tilt his head upwards in slight acknowledgement before pulling himself out of the chair and tugging on Harry's jumper sleeve to get him up too. They went into the kitchen and Snape removed a small black cauldron from the cupboard, placing it on a stand and lighting a flame beneath it. He reached past Harry's shoulder to the small teak shelf that had been stuck on the wall beside the icebox, and snatched the second unlabeled tin from the left. Snape asked Harry to retrieve two mugs, before pouring water into the cauldron. The water made a soothing hissing noise as it hit the hot iron, and Harry watched Snape deftly pop the tin lid open and inhale the scent of the loose leaf tea inside.

"Scottish breakfast tea." Snape answered Harry's unasked question. "A sturdier flavour, I find…encompassing."

The cauldron water finally came to a boil and Snape ladled hot water into a waiting white teapot, which he swished around to warm the ceramic before dumping the water into the sink. Two heaping teaspoons of tea were added, and the cauldron water poured in. Harry got the distinct feeling that this was almost a ritual for Snape, a ritual in making the proper pot of tea that had been passed down through a generation or two. The tea cosy that was placed on the teapot was faded brown knitted one, with an orange and tan coloured leaf knitted into the centre, and looked like it might have belonged to Snape's grandmother once upon a time.

"It is strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company." Snape said to himself a few moments later, pulling a rounded metal sieve out of the cutlery drawer and placing it over his mug.

"Do you want me to go back to my dorm?" Harry asked, watching the tea being poured and the leaves catching on the sieve.

Snape paused and seemed to be debating something with himself.

"No. But I won't have you moping on my couch. Fetch the cribbage board."

Harry spent the rest of the evening sitting on the couch, coming up with ridiculous scoring combinations to fifteen and randomly regaling Snape with funny memories of Dumbledore. Snape had been right, of course. The tea was earthy and had filled him with an encompassing warmth from his stomach out. At midnight he vaguely remembered being marched down the hall to the guest room, and tucked under the covers. He was quite certain, however, that he felt much better than he had in the morning.

….

The first class of the day for Friday was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Harry hoped that Snape would go easy on them. The whole school had spent the day before feeling rather lost, unsettled over the death of the headmaster. Snape had told him the night before to be on alert and to be prepared over the next week for Voldemort to take action, as now that Dumbledore had died, the next steps in the war would be fast paced.

Snape welcomed them into defense class with a slightly softer sneer than usual and Harry stared warily at the small wooden crates that sat on everyone's desk. He sat sandwiched between Ron and Hermione, keeping his eyes down and wanting nothing more than to disappear to Stockport, to his bedroom and the warm knit blanket that was on his bed. He had absolutely no desire to be taking notes.

Harry listened silently as Snape started the lecture, talking about Malaysian red scuttle crabs, which were apparently used in many dark potions and rituals in Asia, and on their own had a nasty habit of stealing shiny metal objects from homes and people camping.

He idly wrote down what they ate and what preyed on them as he thought of Wednesday night. Malfoy's absence in he class was conspicuous, but no one was asking about it yet. Harry blinked back wetness that had suddenly invaded his eyes. Last semester, during that disastrous lesson with the headmaster, Harry had accused Dumbledore of not deserving mercy. In the end, the man had died for him. He nearly scratched through the parchment on his desk as he wrote "I'm sorry", and wondered if the Dumbledore of the portrait could forgive him.

"Potter." Snape's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts. "Pay attention, or face detention tonight."

Harry looked up and blinked as the rest of the class stared at him, and Snape crossed his arms at the front of the room.

"Yes sir." Harry answered in a monotonous voice. He pulled the box towards him and flicked the lid, letting Ron open it fully.

"This is a baby scuttle crab, and while it is slightly more docile than the adult version, you will still lose a finger if it pinches. I make no guarantees that appendages will be successfully re-attached." Snape growled, leveling them all a look. Low chatter took over the room as everyone started on their boxes, flipping lids and arguing over who was going to pick up the bright red crab inside.

"Miss Parkinson, grab it with both hands to prevent it from pinching." Snape glared, annoyed at the theatrics the girls of the class were displaying. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Harry stick his hand directly into the crate and yank the crab out. Someone shrieked as the crab continued flying in an arc away from the box as Harry flung his arm, a pained look on his face.

"Fuck!"

Snape whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes at Harry, who was grasping his left hand.

"Ten points for cursing, Potter." Snape sneered as he stalked towards where Harry was standing. "Weasley, catch the crab."

Ron, who was doing a passable imitation of a floundered fish, finally snapped to attention and chased after the crab when Snape drew his wand out of his sleeve. He'd finally reached Harry, who was starting to go white and look very confused.

"I got stung again." Harry said, sweat breaking out in tiny beads on his forehead as he started to shake. He held his hand up and Snape yanked it close, locating the bee stinger. Once again he used his wand to remove it, before grasping Harry's chin with his hand and holding it almost painfully tight.

"Pay attention, Potter. Where is the pen?"

Harry gave him a startled and very worried look, but didn't answer. Panic was starting to set in his eyes, and Snape wondered if there was more than one bee left in the box. He barely paid any mind to the other students who were staring in open curiosity and shock at what was happening. Harry was shaking as he stood partially held up by Snape, his voice becoming highpitched as he tried to explain how he was feeling.

"Accio epipen." Snape muttered, pointing his wand at Harry.

It burst out of his backpack and flew towards Snape, who popped off the protective lid, causing most of the class to gasp and two girls to yelp when he swung his arm down forcefully and jabbed Harry in the thigh with it. The needle passed through several layers of clothes and Snape held it there for a moment, waiting for all the medicine to inject itself. Harry was swaying forward and grasped Snape's arm to keep from falling.

"Granger!" Snape barked, capping the needle again and putting it into his own pocket. "Report to your head of house that we are going to the hospital. Everyone else, contain the crabs, seal the boxes, and you are dismissed. Heathcote, tell Hagrid to retrieve his crabs."

And with that, leaving a stunned class and two very worried Gryffindors, Snape cast a hasty featherweight charm, picked Harry up, and stormed out the door.

….

Both Hermione and Ron took off in a dead run towards Professor McGonagall's office, encountering her halfway to the actual spot. She was carrying a rather large and worn leather case, and Ron realized that she was taking this week's work to the headmaster's office.

"Harry's hurt!" Hermione blurted, stopping the professor mid stride.

"I beg your pardon?"

"In class, Professor. We were looking at Malaysian scuttle crabs and something bit him." Ron answered, a bit calmer than Hermione. They continued walking, McGonagall hurrying them towards Dumbledore's office.

"Snape said he was taking Harry to the infirmary, but we've just passed by the infirmary, and they aren't there." Hermione, one normally to trust professors and see both sides of the story, was in a state of agitation that Ron had rarely seen her in before.

McGonagall held her hand up to silence her.

"Miss Granger, focus. What were his exact words?"

"He actually said the hospital, Professor." Ron admitted, scratching his arm nervously. "And he whacked Harry in the leg with some sort of yellow tube he found in Harry's pocket."

"Right after Harry was stung by a little yellow…" Hermione trailed off, the pieces finally clicking together. "Harry's allergic to bees, isn't he?"

"Yes." McGonagall snapped, before turning to the gargoyle and speaking the password. As she ushered Ron and Hermione into her office all three avoided glancing at the newest portrait behind the desk.

"Tell me exactly what happened." McGonagall ordered, pointing her wand at a small door to the side of Fawkes perch, which held a rather thick mail slot opening. She summoned Harry's school file from the archive room below the office, and listened intently to their explanation.

….

The emergency room smelled slightly coppery, with a mixture of antiseptic and dry rubber from the machines and thick wheels of the beds that passed by with regular occurrence. Snape, in his hastily transfigured black muggle suit, walked determinedly up to the admittance desk, carrying a partially lucid Harry.

"Bee sting." Snape barked, glaring at the nurse. "Already had the epipen."

The nurse gave him a puzzled look as she waved for a stretcher, and Snape dumped Harry on it.

"What's his name and how long ago?"

"Approximately ten minutes ago." Snape answered, slyly fingering the wand in his pocked and confounding the nurse over the small fact that it was January, and thus rather out of season for a bee sting. He rolled Harry a bit on the stretcher and pulled off the robe. His jumper and trousers was fine, but Hogwarts robes were rather difficult to explain as part of a school uniform.

"And his name?" She came around from the desk and looked at Harry's eyes.

"Harry Potter." Snape replied, no emotion in his voice whatsoever. A heart monitor was set up for Harry as he was pushed into a private A&E cubicle, and a small white plastic bit was clipped onto Harry's finger, to measure the oxygen levels in his blood. Snape sent one last spell, obliviating the nurse, before he disillusioned the hospital bed and wheeled Harry out of the emergency area and to the first private room he found down the hall.

Hooded green eyes watched his every movement as Snape pulled a vial out of his pocket and shooed away a silver tabby cat patronus that had popped into the room. Snape took a second to check his watch and noted that the angry red face was slowly fading back to a healthier pink. No time to think about that now, Snape figured, putting the robe at the end of the bed and popping open the vial. The Dark Lord would be there in less than fifteen minutes.

"Gryffindor bravery is overrated." Snape muttered, holding the vial to Harry's lips, and then tipping the cool liquid inside.


	10. Chapter 10 No Turning Back

AN: Thanks for your patience, and the wicked reviews! Hope this explains, and doesn't disappoint. ;)

* * *

Ch 10 - No Turning Back

Harry took a deep breath as the potion he ingested melted like ice in his veins, opening his airway, neutralizing the bee venom, and calming his heart rate down. He sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his uniform shirt undone and his tie tossed somewhere by the foot of the bed. He had little sticky pads from the heart monitor on his chest, and his hair was damp from the cold sweats he'd been going through.

Snape leaned against the opposite wall of the bland little room, standing by the window and scowling uneasily. In his right hand he held another vial, this one much larger and black.

"No turning back." Snape's voice was eerily calm; as if facing Voldemort was something he did every day. Harry figured that as often as Snape went to meetings, it should have made him more nervous.

"No turning back." Harry agreed, keeping eye contact and reaching into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a letter and handed it to Snape. "Give that to me when it's over. Or read it to me if I can't read." Harry's voice was less steady.

Snape nodded and accepted the parchment, banishing it immediately to somewhere. He uncorked the vial and moved towards the bed, studying Harry carefully.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It's making me nervous. Are you nervous?" Harry blurted, hiding his wand in a fold of the bed sheets.

"I'm about to fry part of your brain." Snape responded dryly, folding his arms as Harry took the vial.

"This seemed like a much better idea at home." Harry muttered, grimacing at the smell. "Hey, before I take this, I want a free pass for anything that happens tonight. No grounding."

Snape raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Are you intending to do anything stupid?"

"I never really plan these things." Harry answered with a forced grin. "It's only twenty eight hours, right?"

"Yes. Give or take a few minutes."

"Wait." Harry looked up at Snape and blinked slowly. "If I come out of this damaged, will we still be a family?"

Snape saw the slight unsteadiness to Harry's hands and recognised that he had enough Slytherin to him to know when to be afraid.

"I've always thought you were a bit damaged. You'll still be my son." Snape answered, looking down his nose and glaring at the vial. Harry flashed a triumphant smile at him.

"Proost, Dad." Harry toasted in Dutch, his voice serious now as he put the vial to his mouth and tipped back.

The brew to clear Harry's airway and calm his heartbeat down were child's play compared to the potion that Harry had just taken, which had taken Snape a month to perfect. It was an improvement on the potion that Harry had taken over the summer, that had allowed him to retain his fully aged mind in the younger body, and had been laced with enough basilisk venom to hopefully break the horcrux. Timing by the watch on his wrist, Snape held his breath as Harry began to tremble slightly and retch. A bucket was quickly conjured and Snape watched as black bile was thrown up into it, Harry's arms convulsing as he struggled to empty his stomach of the substance that seemed to be putting up a fight, going by the dry heaves it was causing. After just two minutes, Harry let out a mournful groan and dropped the bucket, which Snape banished immediately to prevent spillage. Right before Snape's eyes, Harry began to shrink.

The last time Snape had been this nervous had been nearly seventeen years earlier, when he'd gone for his mastery and spent three days awake to brew a particularly touchy nerve re-growth potion. Snape's mind flashed back to the past summer, remembering the drunken idiot he'd found scrunched up in his and Lily's old tree trunk, reeking of beer and despair. How quickly the little twit had wormed himself into Snape's acceptance, from his vulnerable and half asleep mumbling in the morning, walking into Snape's kitchen with ridiculous hair and his wand sticking out from his pyjama pants, to his surprisingly coherent conversation over a cribbage game in the evenings. He thought of how Harry had been a rather regular teenager in Stockport, lazily sleeping in on some days, wandering around to the store in the afternoon, and pitching in with just enough chores to make Snape refrain from commenting.

A violent cough came from the tiny body on the bed, and Snape suddenly remembered the warmth of Harry as he'd fallen asleep against Snape's chest in Amsterdam, moments before Amy Benson gave up her information. As much as the boy had been a thorn in Snape's side since he'd first arrived at Hogwarts, Snape hoped that the same Harry would emerge at the end of this.

The clothing stayed the same size, but underneath the loose material now laid a shivering toddler. Harry Potter, reduced to a rather defenceless fourteen month old. Snape took a hesitant step towards the bed, keeping his eyes focused on the frightened boy that lay there. The trembling was likely left over from the basilisk venom coursing through with the de-aging potion, and not for the first time in his life, Snape's breath shallowed as if he was approaching a very unstable brew.

The scar was gone, and the forehead completely clear, but the eyes were darting around the room rapidly and rather clouded with confusion. Snape took a hold of one of the little hands, uneasy at how much space was left when fitted into his own. Had the potion worked properly, the horcrux would be gone and Harry's sixteen year old mind would be inside his fourteen month old body. There was the question of what brain damage would be caused by the horcrux removal, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it now. Harry's eyes finally found Snape's, and Snape squeezed his hand.

"Do you know who I am?"

It seemed to take Harry forever to process what Snape had asked him, but he did and slowly nodded, his messy black hair whisking over his eyes.

Snape exhaled some of the tension across his shoulders and brushed back Harry's hair, before realising he was doing it and standing straight. Were they lucky enough too that removing the horcrux hadn't affected Harry?

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Harry's face scrunched up as he focused on the three fingers.

"Blue." He answered, his voice soft and hesitant.

Snape kept his expression blank as he nodded. "Close enough. Do you remember the plan?"

Another nod, and Snape set to work creating a glamour over Harry's body. It was bizarre discussing war plans with a one year old, but they didn't have much time, and it was an all or nothing shot. If something went wrong, Snape's loyalties would be exposed and they would be in a rather busy muggle place without backup.

"Da. Da." Harry said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. Snape froze, in the middle of transfiguring his suit back to robes. He felt a tiny push of legilimency at the forefront of his mind, not enough to even attempt to break barriers, but enough to give Snape steady reassurance. That was not a mere one year old lying in the hospital bed, disguised to look sixteen. That was his son, and he looked terrified. His body was scrawny and slightly grubby, the hair lank as if it didn't get washed daily. Snape could spot a rather dark scar under Harry's ear that ran towards his hair and put his murderous thoughts of the Dursleys aside for the moment to offer a word of reassurance. Harry was battling the overwhelming emotions and fears of a fourteen month old toddler, and Snape could only imagine how strong the sense of panic was. When he'd gotten the lightning bolt scar Harry hadn't known what was coming, what destruction Voldemort was capable of. From the trembling of the boy's fingers, Snape knew that Harry was well aware of the possibilities now.

…

Snape had just sat back down in the chair beside Harry, who'd rolled over on his side and let his longer hair cover his eyes, when he felt a silencing charm settle in the air around him. Snape stiffened slightly, but didn't turn. He didn't need to, didn't need to see the ice-cold eyes to know exactly who had just walked into the small room.

"Well done, Severus."

The praise was accompanied by a slow clap and spoken from the door; from the eerily human sounding voice that Snape knew belonged to a monster. Snape bowed his head, his lanky hair covering his face, and still didn't turn.

"My lord, your timing is as impeccable as ever."

Voldemort stood to the back of the room still; by the door he'd entered in, and observed the machines to the side of the bed. He sneered disdainfully at the heart monitor that was attached to Harry, before gifting Snape with a ghastly smile.

"As according to plan. Though I must admit I had my doubts that your proposal would work. It is rather…simple."

"I find it unnecessary to resort to elaborate curses and spells when a simple child's hex will do." Snape answered immediately, allowing a small measure of arrogance to carry in his voice.

Voldemort stepped away from the door, his black robes swaying by his feet as he walked to the bed and leaned over Harry. Snape suddenly experienced a very strong protective urge that he was still not accustomed to, and clenched his fists to prevent himself from jumping to his feet.

"Yes, perhaps you should impact that lesson upon Lucius and his little brat. Wherever he ended up."

"St. Mungo's." Snape answered, his narrowed eyes focusing on the distinct lack of space between Harry and Voldemort. "McGonagall thought it best, thought you couldn't reach him there."

"No matter. He's useless at the moment." Voldemort placed his hand over Harry's head, inches from the glamoured mop of hair and Snape tensed further. "Little Harry Potter, lying here helpless in a muggle hospital."

If only he knew how little.

"The Malfoy family has always been more for the show than functionality." Snape commented idly, trying to distract Voldemort from cursing Potter.

"Not a wholly incorrect observation, Severus. Perhaps some of my followers, being of less pure blood and poorer statue, are more hungry for success." Voldemort commented, sounding disinterested but Snape distinctly heard the insult. "I can only imagine how ruthless and ambitious any son of yours would be."

"Had I any inclination to spawn," Snape said with distaste, "I assure you that any son of mine would know his worth, regardless of whatever social standing my family name has."

Voldemort stood straight again and walked over to the tiny window that was in the room. Snape had banked on him wanting Harry to be conscious before he did anything, as Voldemort had a flair for drama and likely wanted to taunt Harry a while before attempting to kill him.

"While I congratulate you on ridding yourself of Dumbledore," Snape continued, "it seems that the original plan was to portkey Potter away. Did you not trust my information to you, my lord?"

From the general direction of the bed Snape could suddenly detect a sharp odour, and knew that Harry wouldn't be able to keep still much longer. It was like having a prowling cat in an enclosed room while one was hidden in the shadows, and since they'd first hatched the plan a few weeks earlier, Harry had been uncomfortable with the idea of likely being too young to control his magic.

"I did, Severus. So far you have disappointed me the least." Voldemort waved his hand mildly. "But when you informed me in November that a simple bee sting was strong enough to bring down a bothersome pest that I have not been able to destroy, I was naturally sceptical."

Snape pretended to be miffed and withdrew a small vial from his cloak pocket, filled with a murky grey liquid. "Yes, well, now that you have seen the results, I suppose you wish the cure."

"And why do you think I would need that, Ssssseverusss?" Voldemort hissed, looking annoyed.

"Though I regret that I was not there on the night of your resurrection, I do understand that you were able to return by using the boy's blood?" Snape's voice was monotonous and non-accusatory.

"The blood of my enemy." Voldemort confirmed with a superior tone. "It allows me to touch Potter now, causing him more harm than myself."

"Perhaps it has unfortunately infected you with the allergy as well." Snape said, arranging his facial expression to look troubled.

Voldemort snatched the bottle from Snape's hand, holding it up to the light and inspecting it.

"This is a permanent cure?" Voldemort asked, his gaze boring into Snape's as if actually reading his mind, instead of checking for memories.

"Of course, my lord. Only the best quality." Snape replied confidently.

Voldemort didn't uncork the vial though, and Snape asked another question to hurry things along.

"Out of curiosity, where did the chalice send Dumbledore?"

"To an old haunt of mine I had intended to send Potter. It ravages the magic of anyone without a dark mark," Voldemort explained smugly. "I was content to let Potter rot there in the cave until he died, and report that the wizarding world's beloved hero had abandoned them."

"A fitting end." Snape commented idly, keeping his disgust to himself. "Unfortunate that Greyback was sacrificed."

"Yes, yes." Voldemort clipped, pacing in the room and glaring at the hospital bed. "Amazing how fickle life is though, isn't it? Now, the great boy who lived, the only person to ever survive the killing curse, brought down by a mere bumblebee."

"Not quite, my lord. He should wake soon, and I thought you would wish to finish the deed." Snape corrected softly, nodding towards the vial in Voldemort's hand.

"And I shall." Voldemort sneered, before tipping back the vial and swallowing the entirety of it. Snape sat back in his seat, careful to keep his face neutral.

"My apologies for the taste." Snape offered, lowering his eyes in a feigned sign of respect.

"You would do well to remember," but Voldemort stopped, his reprimand dying on his lips as his face took a strange look.

"My lord?" Snape asked blandly, watching as colour filled the normally sallow white cheeks on Voldemort's face. The snake eyes widened as his breath drew raspy, and he fumbled in his robes for something.

Harry, who'd been waiting for the right moment, lifted his head and pointed his now oversized wand at Voldemort. Snape figured that Harry must have cast the stupefy spell non-verbally, perhaps because as a baby his pronunciation was far from clear, but he didn't have time to question as he drew his own wand. He flinched as he felt a non-verbal cutting hex flash by his face, slicing his cheek.

"Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!" Snape commanded, his voice low and strong as if he were merely giving a lecture in class.

Voldemort crashed to the floor, his eyes darting madly around as he vainly fought the four spells. His wand went flying and banged against the visitor's chair, while thick red ropes slithered up his body like a snake, keeping him tightly bound as his face turned redder. Five tense minutes passed where the only noise that could be heard was a shaky gasp for breath from the floor, and a small whimper from Harry. His tiny body had been pushed to the edge from fear and the desperate sounds Voldemort was making as he took his last breaths. Harry was sitting up on the bed, and Snape moved over to the side, cupping Harry's head with his hand, cancelling the glamour, and holding Harry against his body. He shielded Harry from the ugly sight that was on the floor, and kept his wand trained on the Dark Lord for a few minutes longer. If they'd missed any horcruxes, now would be the time they'd find out.

Snape let another ten minutes pass as he held Harry to his side, finally casting a diagnostic spell over Voldemort's body, pleased and relieved to the point of giddiness that it came back with no vital signs whatsoever. Voldemort was dead.

Snape cast containment spells over the dead body, staying far enough away from it but ensuring it wouldn't spontaneously start moving again. He quickly conjured a bucket of warm soapy water and rummaged through a cabinet against the wall.

"There's only muggle nappies." He muttered, walking back over to Harry and pulling off the baggy clothes that covered his body. "I will summon the aurors soon."

Snape noted with interest that even as a one year old, Harry's embarrassment was rather evident on his face. Snape said nothing though as he disposed of the wet underpants, still feeling the electrifying mix of fear and anticipation in the air, and not quite understanding how Harry could be handling the toddler version of those feelings so silently. Harry was very quickly bathed and changed into a nappy, with a short apology. Due to the potion that had both destroyed the horcrux and attempted to preserve most of Harry's brain, he'd now be stuck as a toddler for 28 hours. No magic could be performed on him, in the event that it disrupted his brain from re-organizing itself as best possible without the bit of Riddle's soul that had been in there.

"Monster." Harry said, giving Snape a pleading look. Snape noted that it had to be extremely frustrating to have thoughts and questions to express, but be restricted to the limited vocabulary that he had at 14 months.

"Yes. He was a monster." Snape murmured, transfiguring a spare hospital blanket into navy blue footed pyjamas and holding them up to Harry to test for size.

"Fly?"

"Pardon?" Snape lifted Harry up and put the pyjamas on the bed under him, before putting Harry back down and working little arms and legs into the sleeves and feet.

"Red." Harry squirmed, pointing at Snape's cheek.

"Yes." Snape suddenly understood. He wasn't quite sure if the speech problem was from Harry's age, or from the removal of the horcrux, but it was something that could be worked on once Harry returned to his normal self.

"The monster is gone." Snape was surprised at how easy it was to fall into simpler speech patterns as if he really was talking to a toddler. He reached down to do up the snaps across Harry's belly, his fingertips softly grazing the skin and causing an unexpected giggle.

Interesting.

Harry was giving him his best baby glare, which Snape ignored completely and tickled his stomach again. The giggle was louder and longer this time, accompanied by kicking feet and swinging fists. Snape couldn't help but smile, enjoying the euphoria of finally knowing that the reign of Voldemort was over. There were other death eaters still around, and people who'd want to do Harry and himself harm (likely the same people, to think of it), but the iconic leader was gone for good.

Taking mercy, Snape finished buttoning up the pyjama suit and picked Harry up, cradling him against his chest. He felt a rather painful tug on a lock of his hair, and raised an eyebrow at the innocent look he received in return. Snape tucked Harry's wand into his pocket before using his own to summon his patronus.

Harry let out an excited shriek upon seeing the doe, before burying his head in embarrassment against Snape's shoulder.

Snape smirked again and spoke to his faithful patronus, the doe that had been his friend in the darkest nights of this war.

"Provide apparition co-ordinates and deliver to Rufus Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shaklebolt, Arthur Weasley, and Minerva McGonagall. Voldemort is dead."

While they waited for the recipients to arrive, Snape pulled Harry's outer robe towards them and transfigured it into a dark brown, green, and blue knit baby blanket. The two toys Harry had stuck in his pockets the day before fell out, and Snape handed them over, before wrapping Harry loosely in the blanket. Kermit squirmed in Harry's small hands as three pops sounded, the three men arriving in the room and a patronus reply from McGonagall stating that she couldn't leave the school but gave a heartfelt congratulations.

Srimgeour gasped upon arriving into the room, first taking note of the fact that there seemed to be a dead body on the floor, one of the most evil wizards in recent history, and secondly noticing that ex-death eater Severus Snape was sitting on the hospital bed, a little boy with small peaks of black hair escaping from the blanket he was held in, sitting in Snape's lap with his head tucked into the nook of Snape's throat.

Kingsley and Arthur held their surprise about the second fractionally better, and all three smiled widely.

"He's really gone." Shacklebolt said, toeing Voldemort's boot.

The lifeless eyes still stared upwards as the body lay prone on the floor, swathed in black robes, the hems slightly muddy and the material around the cuffs frayed. Snape found that thought slightly disturbing, as he didn't enjoy likening Voldemort to anything human.

"Well done, Severus, well done." Arthur crowed, unknowingly echoing the earlier words of Voldemort.

"Who is that?" Scrimgeour said dumbly, pointing at Harry.

"My son." Snape replied, giving the Minister of Magic a look that clearly communicated that he thought the man daft.

Harry, who had been holding onto Kermit and Ambrose the wizard, tapped them against Snape's chest and dropped them onto Snape's thigh. He suddenly felt exhausted.

"Looks like the little tyke needs a nap." Arthur said, giving Snape a small nod. "Shall we go over what happened, and you can take your leave?"

"That would be ideal, thank you." Snape conceded, putting the toys in his robe pocket. "I have two versions of events, one that will be reported to the wizarding world, and the truth which will be kept to yourselves."

"Come now, Severus. Does the public not deserve to know the truth?" Scrimgeour balked, already thinking about press conferences and future re-election.

"Absolutely not." Snape glared. "And as Potter and I are the ones to have finally killed the Dark Lord, I do believe you have no choice in the matter."

"I thought you said he was your son!" Scrimgeour sputtered, staring at the back of Harry's head.

"I did. Your family affairs office is rather busy, I am not surprised that you did not receive any notice regarding the adoption last August." Snape commented idly, knowing full well that the adoption had been kept at the highest level of secrecy possible, and that Scrimgeour had no chance of finding out.

"Regardless. We shall be leaving soon, so I recommend you fetch or transfigure notepads shortly."

All three conjured a pad of paper and Snape waited for them to charm their quills to take notes.

"From the beginning, if you please." Shaklebolt said, perched on a transfigured chair.

"Potter became injured in my class this morning. He suffered a severe allergic reaction; I injected him with his medicine and brought him to the hospital. We obtained a private room, and Potter took a potion to rid himself of the lightning bolt scar, his connection to Voldemort. Voldemort arrived under my summons, thinking that I had finally brought Harry Potter to him. Voldemort was caught unawares, stupefied, and suffocated."

Silence dropped over the room as the three men stared at him.

"That's…it?" Scrimgeour asked.

"That's what you may report." Snape confirmed.

"A year and a half of fear and terror, a madman threatening to purge all non-purebloods from society and unbeatable even by Dumbledore, and you _suffocated_ him?"

"Ah, so you admit that you knew Voldemort was back, even though Fudge didn't?" Arthur asked, his muggle biro working furiously away at the pad of paper. Scrimgeour looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel that was twitching under his left eye.

"I didn't suffocate him." Snape replied in an infuriatingly calm tone. "It was technically a hive effort. The Ministry will, by the way, be receiving a 52 galleon bill for 60 millilitres of undiluted bee venom. I expect to be remunerated post haste."

Shaklebolt, both amused and taking pity on Scrimgeour, summoned a house elf from the ministry and asked for a bottle of firewhiskey. He poured a shot and passed it over, confiscating the man's notepad.

"Harry's allergic to bees?" Arthur asked, accepting a drink of his own.

In Snape's lap and leaning against the man's chest, Harry gave up all pretence of acting his regular age and stuck his two first fingers of his hand in his mouth, closing his eyes. When they'd discussed the plans Snape had warned him that whatever he'd felt as a six year old would be magnified as a toddler, and Harry had read over some of the information from a muggle parenting book on Snape's bookshelf. Most of the information there was self-explanatory, but Harry had been concerned about the separation anxiety he was to experience. Right now, with Snape's arm and the blanket wrapped around him and a steady heartbeat against his ear, Harry could understand why a one year old wouldn't want his parent to leave.

"Yes. And by extension, so was the Dark Lord." Snape confirmed, turning down the whiskey offer. His nerves were jumpy enough as it was, and he'd rather work it out with some tea and a book back at the castle instead of getting sloppy drunk.

"How could you be certain of that?" Scrimgeour asked, narrowing his eyes.

"His blood." Arthur explained. "Voldemort resurrected himself with Harry's blood."

Scrimgeour paled.

"Yes. Thus, when the Dark Lord arrived here, intent upon finally doing in his nemesis, I gave him the bee venom and told him it was actually the cure for the allergy."

"Stop calling him that." Scrimgeour snapped, causing Harry to jump a little.

"Habit." Snape replied unapologetically. He idly started stroking Harry's hair above his ear, keeping Harry held tight.

"How long did the venom take to kill him?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Five minutes, maximum. I may have given him a bit more venom than necessary." There was a bit of amusement in Snape's eyes at this tidbit.

"And what was the potion you gave Potter?" Scrimgeour asked, getting a calculating look in his face. The headlines for the Evening Prophet would be sensational.

"None of this is on the record." Snape growled, shifting Harry to his other arm.

"No, no." Scrimgeour agreed readily. The shock of a dead Voldemort lying on the floor a foot away had finally passed. His term as a successful Minister suddenly seemed much more possible.

"The potion destroyed the last of Voldemort's five horcruxes. The lightning bolt scar." Snape said, his face twisted into a sneering grin as he watched the information be absorbed.

"Son of a bitch." Scrimgeour exhaled. Arthur and Kingsley were similarly taken back, things finally clicking into place. Order tasks to find old memories and acquaintances from Voldemort's past, endless quests for information from the Ministry archives regarding spells and dark art practices that had been black listed for decades. Dumbledore had never told them what they'd been doing, but the research had been very thorough.

"Is it permanent?" Arthur asked, nodding at Harry.

"No." Snape replied. "He merely will be this age for another twenty eight hours, enough time to allow his brain adjust to not having the horcrux embedded within."

"How old is he right now?" Shaklebolt asked, pouring himself another shot. Somewhere in the world it was past 5 pm.

"Fourteen months, which will not be reported to anyone."

"A month younger than when his parents were killed." Arthur commented.

Silence filled the room again. Snape glanced down to note that Harry had fallen asleep, while Scrimgeour and Shaklebolt stared once again at the body of Voldemort. Here they sat, in the middle of London's busiest hospital in the middle of a cold January day, the smell of firewhiskey starting to permeate the room while the largest threat to the wizarding world in years lay dead on the floor.

"Did you know," Snape commented lightly, smoothing down a particularly stubborn bit of Harry's hair. "That Dumbledore is an old English word for bumblebee?"

…..

Harry and Snape returned back to Hogwarts just past noon, when the students should have been in the Great Hall for lunch. The walk was slow as they made their way up the winding path, Harry half asleep with his head on Snape's shoulder, the blanket still wrapped around him against the chilly air. Snape's boots crunched on the hard snow covering the path up to the castle, and Harry's nose twitched as he took in the scent of Snape's aftershave and the starch of his collar.

They finally reached the front door and it swung open to reveal deputy Headmistress McGonagall, standing tall in her familiar green robes, hair tied up tight in a bun. She had a very warm smile on her face as she welcomed them in.

"Severus, congratulations. One hundred points to Slytherin." She was barely able to maintain the tease in her voice, and Harry figured that she too was feeling giddy after sixteen years of an uncertain war. He yawned as Snape murmured his thanks, and suddenly found himself being held a bit tighter. Snape continued talking to the Headmistress, promising a full explanation over afternoon tea, and grasping his crossed arms against Harry's thigh.

"I'm afraid we'll need to cut this conversation short for now, Minerva." Snape's tone was soft and Harry's chest rumbled with the voice. "My son has come to visit for a day."

He gave her a pointed look that she immediately understood, after having spent many years working with Snape and studying his various non-verbal expressions.

"Yes, of course." She replied fondly, reaching up and running her fingers through Harry's hair.

"I look forward to our discussion. Welcome home, Elliot."

"Blanket." Harry replied, dropping his head back onto Snape's shoulder.

"Quite right." McGonagall smiled, and waved them towards the dungeon stairs.

"Kingsley can brief you, should the press arrive." Snape advised her, nodding goodbye.

…..

As it turned out, Harry only needed a short catnap. Whether it was natural toddler exuberance or euphoria left over from finally defeating Voldemort, he was rather hyper when McGonagall arrived for tea at three. She took in the sight with a stoic face, lasting all of thirty seconds before smiling widely.

Snape sat regally in his wingback chair, a book lying open on the arm of the chair. The camera McGonagall had given him for Christmas was held casually in his hand as he watched with a rather calm look at the chaos happening over by the couch. Harry, dressed in jeans, a grey shirt with thin yellow, black, orange, and light blue stripes, thick black socks, and a green bib, was motoring along the edge of the couch and laughing at two little toys that seemed to be chasing him. The purple dragon ran along the couch cushions, roaring at Harry as Harry teased it with his fingers, while the wizard seemed to be challenging Harry with its plastic wand. A half eaten personal carton of yogurt sat abandoned next to a small spoon on the coffee table, and a small juicer cup had been dropped on the floor.

"Well Severus. All bark and no bite with your own child, is it?" She took a seat in the other wingback chair and smirked. Harry suddenly turned shy, picking up his toys and staring at her from the front of the couch.

"Merely testing his fine motor skills." Snape huffed, not sounding all that bothered by the comment.

"Kingsley mentioned he'd be this young for a day?"

"About that, yes. It was necessary to rid him of the horcrux." Snape answered, summoning a house elf for tea.

"Will there be any side effects?" McGonagall asked.

"So far I've only noted a mild form of paraphasia. However, more will be known when Elliot returns to his normal self."

McGonagall nodded and sipped at her tea. They continued their conversation while Harry played, a little quieter than before. After the retelling of their day and the remarkably simple end of Voldemort, Harry teetered over towards Snape's chair, dinosaur in hand. He held it up towards Snape and concentrated.

"Kermit." Harry said, smiling. McGonagall, who'd picked up the camera from the side table, snapped a quick picture of Harry holding up the dinosaur and Snape looking at it as if it were something Harry had created.

Before the scowling could start, she held up a newspaper from her bag.

"This evening's edition, it will go out in time for supper. I thought you might wish to peruse it before the masses. Shall we be seeing you for in the Great Hall?" McGonagall asked as she finished her tea.

Snape unfolded the paper and noted the rather large photo of himself, one of him laughing. It had been taken during Harry's second year at school, in the staff room after one of Gilderoy Lockhart's more outrageous speeches. It was more of a snort of disbelief than a laugh, but the camera had been obliging and Snape was rather certain McGonagall herself had provided the picture. It was next to a photo of Harry, taken one weekend in Hogsmeade as he smiled naturally while sitting at a table in The Three Broomsticks.

"_VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED! HARRY POTTER AND SEVERUS SNAPE FREE THE WIZARDING WORLD._

_A night for celebrations is called as the Ministry of Magic confirms that earlier today Mr. Harry Potter and Professor Severus Snape defeated He Who Must Not Be Named. In the wake of the devastating death of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Potter and Snape managed to corner Voldemort at a Muggle London hospital and deliver the final blow. Neither man could be reached for comment, but the Ministry has released some details of the event and have confirmed that Voldemort is truly dead. Interviews shall be forthcoming; both Snape and Potter are currently taking time to recover at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and have asked not to be disturbed. For a timeline of events in the Second Wizarding War, please see page two, for a list of Death Eaters still on the loose, please see page three, and a tentative listing of celebration sites and concerts can be found on pages four and five." _

"Perhaps." Snape answered, spreading the paper out on the coffee table, so Harry could see it too. It seemed as if Scrimgeour had kept his promise about keeping most of the information out of the news, a pleasant surprise as the last thing that Snape wanted was for a desperate death eater to find out that for the next twenty four hours, Harry was not in any real state to defend himself.

* * *

AN2: The stupefy in the hospital was a mixture of non-verbal and accidental magic. :)


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Sorry about the long wait. :) The story is not over yet, because I do want to write about the aftermath and Harry's recovery. So there's still a few chapters forthcoming, and likely some one shots afterwards. Thanks for all you guys, you make my day!

* * *

Ch 11 - Not Quite Terrible Twos

Friday's supper at Hogwarts was taken early, at five pm. Snape noticed a hum through the castle, the noise getting louder as he walked in the empty halls towards the Great Hall. His progress was somewhat halted, as he had small chubby fingers snatched onto his hand in a death grip and a little boy staggering cheerfully beside him, trying to keep up with the walk. They'd not had much chance to test what had been affected by the horcrux removal, as Harry was currently younger physically than he had been when he'd received the scar, thus any skills lost would be impossible to tell yet. Snape just put down the changes in attention span and lack of co-ordination to general toddler idiocy for the moment; the real test would come on Saturday afternoon, when Harry returned to his real age.

One thing he had noted though, was that Harry seemed to be much happier than Snape had ever seen him before.

"Ooef!" Harry exclaimed, tripping over a piece of flagstone that wasn't quite flush with the others. Snape automatically leant down and with a strong grip swung him forward, setting Harry steadily on his feet again.

"Bad Fraggle!" Harry accused, pointing at the stone. Snape blinked in confusion. Fraggle? That was a stone. Oh, right. Fraggle Rock, his strange little puppet friends were called, and a stone is part of a rock. This paraphasia Harry seemed to have acquired would be rather challenging if it developed with Harry's older self as well. Snape had read in his parenting books that toddlers made strange verbal connections normally, however, so this may just be him as a one year old.

As Snape had planned, they passed almost no one in the halls. Most of the school had assembled for the celebratory dinner, which Snape and Harry were bypassing. He was not one for huge ceremonies, though he knew McGonagall would insist on one once Harry and Snape were back from their little break. The only person that they encountered on the way to the headmistress' office was Professor Sprout, who took one look at Harry toddling along beside Snape in a black tunic jumper, and grew a wicked grin on her face.

"Severus, who might this young man be?"

"This is Elliot." Snape had his eyebrow raised, as he didn't normally receive teasing from her.

"Your son, is he?" She replied, smile as wide as ever. "Ye of the hairy heart? My goodness. And where is his lovely mother?"

Snape snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I assure you, Madame, that I am no warlock." Snape replied, neatly avoiding the second question.

"Ah, not according to the Evening Prophet, Severus. Many thanks and cheers to you." Pomona continued, tipping her hat and continuing along her way to the Great Hall.

"Professor Sprout." Snape called, clearing his throat and holding onto Harry's hand.

"Not to worry, Severus. I did not see the little green-eyed tyke," came her chirpy answer.

After another saunter down a different hall they finally arrived to the gargoyle, and Snape muttered the password under his breath. Harry was enthralled by the moving staircase, and yelped fearfully as they entered the headmistress' office. The eruption of noise was instantaneous, and Snape became aware of Harry trying to bury himself in the folds of Snape's robes at the same time that every occupant in the portraits were shouting at him.

Snape brought Harry up to the front of the room, setting him down on the desk. Harry clung to Snape's robes still, looking speculatively around the room at the many portraits who were smiling and waving at him.

"Wow." Harry breathed, pointing at the headmaster.

"Hello, Harry." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling in the portrait. His features were softened as they had been during Harry's first years at Hogwarts, the lines that had etched themselves around his eyes and lips during the heightened war had been blurred a little, softened in death.

"Per'fessor" Harry pointed.

"Yes." Snape acknowledged, nodding his head.

"Did you not wish to celebrate with the others, my boys?"

"Celebrate what? The end of the war?" Snape asked, suddenly sounding tired. "Earlier today we killed a man. A murder premeditated, and I deliberately gave a sixteen year old a potion that may have caused permanent and irrevocable brain damage. Do you find that cause for celebration?"

Harry turned where he stood, his hand still resting on Snape's shoulder for balance as he gave Snape a clumsy hug.

"Good dad." Harry whispered, before attempting to stand up straight again and nearly falling flat on his bum. Snape, as usual, caught him in time.

"I wish to apologize to you, Severus." The headmaster said, catching the silence of the other portraits. "I have asked you to sacrifice too many things in this war. Your time, your intelligence, your safety, and your dignity. I had even thought Harry would have to sacrifice himself in the end. As it turned out, and as in many things, I was wrong."

"It's been known to happen." Snape immediately responded, just managing to keep the sarcasm in his voice from being too thick. Dumbledore addressed it with merely a chuckle.

"It has been a long twenty years," Dumbledore acknowledged, "and I do regret the positions I put both of you in."

"I believe my fate was sealed the night I vowed to do anything for Lily." Snape muttered.

"Severus." Dumbledore cut through sternly. "I, Lily, James, Tom Riddle…we are all dead. We do not bear any grudges, nor do we seek any blessings. We, the dead, do not rest uneasy. Only the living do."

Snape was silent for a moment as he took that in. Harry stared around the room at the portraits and the trinkets still left behind from Dumbledore. He was very glad that he was part of this magical world, as he could not imagine ever entering this office without hearing Dumbledore's voice, even if it was now confined to a portrait.

"They're holding a funeral for you on Monday." Snape said finally, tapping his finger on the desk next to Harry's foot. "Using the weekend for the parties."

"See if Honeydukes will do the catering." Dumbledore replied, his face apologetic yet peaceful. "But enjoy your party first."

The happy glint was back in the headmaster's eyes, and Harry realized that Dumbledore had found his freedom too.

"Harry." Dumbledore spoke, adjusting his glasses in the picture. "I congratulate you as well, and I hope Severus will give you the family and normal life I was never able to."

Harry reached one hand up and waved, scrunching his fingers as he did so as if he were trying to imitate the claw of a robot. Snape said nothing, merely sweeping back the unruly fringe on Harry's head to show an unmarred forehead. He picked Harry up and offered a rare smile while they left the room, the portraits clapping as they stepped out.

…..

The knock that came to the door was not an unexpected one, though Snape was rather amused at the speed. It was just past seven in the evening on Friday, and they'd only been home for two hours. Snape had taken Harry to the Sainsbury's downtown for some groceries and nappies. He'd made the pleasant discovery that muggle nappies worked just fine with little fuss, and was thus not going to bother with the wizard version for the short amount of time Harry was going to need them.

Leaving Harry in his highchair with a monitoring charm, Snape slipped out to the front hallway and peered through the peephole in the door. Just whom he'd expected. Snape whisked a small bit of dust from his jacket shoulder before opening the door with his patented scowl and cross of his arms.

"I do believe my address is unlisted."

The man on the stoop had enough grace to look partially chastised.

"For the Minister of Magic, almost nothing is unlisted. And your wards were easily bypassed."

"My wards are set to the visitors I expect." Snape answered, waving his wand and raising the resistance. Scrimgeour looked momentarily taken back by the amount of force he experienced attempting to remain standing on the doorstep.

"Point taken."

Scrimgeour walked into their little hallway, following Snape into the library. Harry was still sitting in the makeshift highchair, fingers grabbing at a shortbread cookie and grubbying it up as he tried to eat it. Harry gave a suspicious look to the Minister of Magic, but remained quiet as Snape turned on the kettle and sat down next to Harry, offering Scrimgeour the other seat.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Snape asked politely, popping open a jar of applesauce and warming it with a spell.

"To personally delivering payment." Scrimgeour said sardonically, withdrawing a bank draft note from his pocket. Snape tasted a spoonful of the sauce to make sure it wasn't too hot and surreptitiously glanced towards the sum. It was made out to Severus Snape from the Ministry of Magic, and it was for exactly fifty two galleons.

"How very efficient of you." Snape replied. "A trait I am not accustomed to from our esteemed Ministry." The comment was made neutrally, but came with the unspoken question as to the nature of the visit. As he waited, Snape fed Harry a spoonful and wiped away the excess with precision with the spoon.

"Think of it also as a checkup from the aspect of social services." Scrimgeour said, his tone light and gaze hard.

"Mmmngh." Harry implored, waving his fist at Snape. It seemed Harry was of the same mind as Snape- not to let the Minister know that Harry was not mentally as young as he appeared. The kettle clicked off as it reached boiling, and Snape handed the spoon to Harry as he stood to pour the pot.

"On that boy's hand is a scar from one of your Ministry employees." Snape said, nodding towards Harry and keeping his voice deadly even. "Carved into his hand by a blood quill, during the time that Fudge denied Voldemort's return. He was fifteen years old, and it was done by a Ministry appointed teacher at Hogwarts."

In the highchair he noticed Harry's confused look and small glance down towards his baby hands. Snape's eyes narrowed at that and made a mental note about the observation.

"This has nothing to do with the adoption. He has been my son since last August in both the eyes of Muggle and Wizard laws." Snape held up his hand and never broke eye contact as he spoke. "For ten years of his life after his parents were murdered, the only way to ensure his safety was to place him with neglectful relatives who starved him and contained him in a cupboard under stairs. Now, he is living under the care of the man who created the potion to rid him of Voldemort. An ex-death eater, master of potions, professor at the most notable academy for wizarding education in the UK. The man who made a life vow on the grave of his mother, fourteen years ago, to protect her little boy with his own life."

Harry shook his spoon at Scrimgeour and babbled at him in nonsense baby talk, which Snape thought particular because he was well aware that Harry could still get his point across with his limited vocabulary.

"This is not a social services call, Minister Scrimgeour. The public would not stand for any interference, and you know it." Snape handed the mug of tea to the Minister and sat back down at his chair.

Scrimgeour accepted the tea Snape gave him and placed a precise amount of milk in it before answering.

"Disregarding whatever the public may have to say regarding your situation, the Ministry is at a distinct impasse regarding the final end of Voldemort. We have spent the past almost twenty years plagued by him, both times to be saved by a mediocre boy wizard. You can imagine how that will look should it ever reach the press. The ministry has no desire to be ridiculed, and I am here to determine your motives before any stronger…steps are taken."

"You think I will blackmail you?" Snape asked, keeping the incredulity out of his voice.

"You are a Slytherin, are you not? You've spent sixteen years spying and playing both sides to your end." Scrimgeour said, taking a drink.

Snape gave him a calculated look, noting the many scars around the old auror's face and the classic strong demeanor he carried. That Scrimgeour came to visit spoke volumes to Snape. The ministry wanted control over the aftermath of Voldemort demise, and likely wanted to claim some credit for the work. Snape, for all his years as a spy, had a few events in his past that he would prefer stay there, and Harry most of all did not wish to become any sort of playboy figurehead for the wizarding world.

"I want freedom."

"Freedom." Scrimgeour repeated, his eyes narrowing.

"Not all Slytherins can become Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour." Snape answered immediately. "You and I have both murdered; I under the mark on my arm, you under your auror robes. You may take your absolution leading the wizarding world into peace, I will take mine enjoying the freedom I have finally earned."

Setting the jar aside, Snape summoned a small face cloth from upstairs and cast a warmed aguamenti spell on it. He wiped the applesauce carefully off to Harry's face, muttering a quick cleaning charm on he cloth before dropping it onto Harry's head.

"Am I to parse that as a request for unlimited clemency?" Scrimgeour asked, lips thin and hands rocking the tea mug irritably against the table.

"Bad." Harry said with an accusing look at Snape, once he'd gotten the wet towel off his head.

"You misunderstand me." Snape replied calmly, taking the cloth back and tossing it towards the sink. "My freedom means the ability to enter any public place in the wizarding world and not be spat at for being an ex-death eater. It means not having to grant endless interviews and attend ministry functions related to the end of the war. It means the same for my son, and it also means that neither of us will be expected to save the world again."

The last bit was said with the patented Snape eyebrow raise, and Scrimgeour managed a chuckle.

"You make it sound easy."

"We are on the same team, freelance as I may be." Snape acknowledged, hoisting Harry out of the chair and setting him down on the floor. Harry made an immediate beeline for the library, crawling towards the bookshelf with the compass collection on it.

"I have no desire to become any officer in the Ministry, and neither does Potter." Snape said, knowing that the real reason Scrimgeour was there was fear of being usurped.

A chorus of "nonononononono," came from floor level, confirming Harry's lack of desire.

"That is of no concern." Scrimgeour immediately noted, refusing to meet Snape's gaze.

Snape watched just as Harry went to reach for something on the shelf before he pulled his wand.

"Of course it's not. Accio Elliot."

Harry shrieked as he was levitated through the air back to the doorway of the kitchen, where Snape caught him. Scrimgeour stood with his tea and passed into the library as Snape was settling Harry into an old fashioned wooden playpen, which had a few older toys in it. There was a small cardboard box off to the corner of the room where the playpen was, the name Severus scratched on it with some sort of black marker in very neat script.

"I never pictured you as a family man." Scrimgeour noted, glancing at the photo of six-year-old Harry about to step onto the Amsterdam tour boat.

"I don't believe you know me well enough to pass judgment." Snape snapped, rummaging through the box and pulling out a small stuffed platypus. He placed it in the playpen with Harry, removed his suit jacket and draped it over the corner of the playpen. Snape sat in his favourite chair by the fireplace, and gestured to the settee.

"Perhaps not, but your file at the Ministry is rather large."

"And assuredly just as colourful. Do we have an agreement? Our freedom for your continued success as Minister of Magic?"

"Yes. Just a few more details, all off the record." Scrimgeour added.

"What else did you need to know?" Snape asked.

"Do you know where Albus Dumbledore's body is?"

Harry sat up in the playpen and stopped murmuring to the platypus.

"Yes, though you will not be able to recover either him or Fenrir Greyback."

"Wards around the area?" Scrimgeour settled on the chesterfield.

"That, and I imagine the end was not pretty for either of them." Snape said, his voice softening a little. He had asked the details of Dumbledore's death back at Hogwarts, partially for closure, and partially to know what he was atoning for.

"Do you know where any other death eaters are?"

"The Malfoys can be found in Sweden, most likely. Draco is in the hospital right now under heavy guard; Lucius will in all probability be trying to arrange his escape soon."

"There's already been an attempt to have him released, some lower level Ministry employee pushing forged paperwork." Scrimgeour said with annoyance.

"Certainly. And you will have several more traitors within your ranks as well." Snape confirmed.

"Is that why you sent Draco Malfoy to St. Mungo's, instead of Azkaban?" Scrimgeour asked.

"Mr. Malfoy found himself at St. Mungo's because he was raving like a bloodthirsty lunatic and broke at least five different school rules in his quest to murder either Dumbledore or Potter."

"Wait, why Dumbledore? I thought he was only after Potter."

In the playpen, Harry had crawled over to investigate Snape's coat pocket and found a wallet inside. It was a muggle wallet, simple black leather with a small strap that closed into almost a belt loop bit. It only took him a minute to open it, which he felt rather proud of. Sitting where he was, the jacked obscured him from Snape's vision, but Scrimgeour could see Harry well enough.

"Malfoys have always been greedy." Snape muttered offhandedly, not mentioning that Voldemort had ordered Draco to only go after the headmaster.

Harry pulled a card from the wallet, giggling a little at the bad picture of Snape that was on it. He could tell which cards were wizarding ones, as those photos moved, and he even recognized the blue house symbol from the AH grocery store in Amsterdam. Snape had gotten the card for bonus prices on food for them during the New Years holiday. There were a few pound notes in the billfold, as well as a bank draft with a Ministry logo on it, but Harry didn't touch those. Money was boring. Instead, he focused back on the cards and his eyes widened as he recognized the next he pulled out. He'd seen one before, on the kitchen table back at Privet Drive. It was a muggle British driver's license, and that was definitely an old picture of Snape on it.

"Planning a getaway, you little thief?" Snape's deep voice rumbled just over his head, startling Harry. It was when Harry looked up that he became aware of two things. The first was that Scrimgeour had taken his leave, and the second was that Snape was currently sporting the exact same scowl that he was in the driver's license picture. Harry blamed the baby emotion level in his body for his bursting into laughter.

Snape crossed his arms in mock annoyance and muttered a quick spell, that returned all his cards to their proper place.

"You're lucky that the anti-theft charm on my wallet is not set against family." Snape warned.

As it was getting late for a one year old, and the day had been rather exhausting, Snape decided that a warm bath before bed was not an unwelcome option for Harry. He had transfigured a pair of baby swimming trunks out of an old tea towel, and sat on the toilet beside the tub as Harry splashed his way through a bath.

"We need to make a list of what has affected you so far. As I am quite certain that most of your skill-related deficiencies come from your physical age and limitations rather than your mind, we shall have to wait to test those until you are bigger."

Harry stared at Snape and held up Ambrose, water dripping down his arms.

"Wizard."

Snape stared at him and slowly flipped over a page in his muggle notebook, seemingly resetting his train of thought in the action.

"Yes, Elliot. You are a wizard."

Harry stuck his tongue out and put Ambrose down, splashing more water to the side of the tub.

"Do you remember getting the scar on your hand?" Snape asked, dropping a towel on the floor to dry the tiles.

Harry looked at both of his hands again and then gave a bemused answer. "Cup."

"No, it wasn't caused by a cup." Snape retorted, picking up the shampoo from the shower shelf and setting it on the ledge of the tub.

"No! Cup!" Harry insisted, twisting around to see Snape. Snape scooped up some water and brought it up over Harry's head, soaking the hair.

"There's no scar?" Snape tried again, pouring some shampoo in his hand.

"Red." Harry confirmed, nodding his head and holding up his hands.

"Your speech was much better earlier. Concentrate on telling me something." Snape asked, not quite commanding but not suggesting either as he rubbed the shampoo into Harry's hair.

A giggle emitted from Harry before he pointed at Snape and said in a very clear voice.

"Wash hair."

Snape said nothing, merely giving a pointed look at Harry before rinsing the shampoo off. Harry did discover moments later however, as Snape was washing him down with soap and a flannel, that he was ticklish in many more places than just his stomach.

…

Harry definitely felt the effects of the bath shortly after, yawning all the way through his changing into a clean nappy and red footie pyjamas. Snape had placed him on his bed, pulling the covers up neatly around him and Harry had immediately twisted to his side, scrunching them up. From here he could see a familiar letter sitting on his nightstand, and he stared at the small cursive writing on the envelope. He could remember writing the letter to himself, sitting on his dorm bed late at night with his wand lit as light, petting Kermit gently while he wrote everything important that he wanted to remember.

After closing the blinds Snape sat on the side of the bed, avoiding Harry's legs. He followed the line of sight at picked up the envelope.

"Do you wish me to read this?"

"Elephant" Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Very well." Snape acquiesced, undoing the wax seal on the back. The seal was in the shape of an owl; the first Harry had carved and sent to the seal maker in Amsterdam.

"Dear Elliot,

Your favourite colour is blue. You're a Gryffindor, but the sorting hat originally wanted to put you in Slytherin. You're a parselmouth, or at least, you were. You grew up in a cupboard at number four Privet drive, and for ten years you thought that was normal. You were named Harry James Potter, James after your father, and you don't know who Harry is after. When you were adopted, your name was changed to Elliot Fyodor Snape.

Hogwarts was your first home. Hedwig, your owl, was your first birthday present and Ron was your first best friend. Hermione was your second, and you three are inseparable. If you can't remember anything, ask them. You trust them with your life, and they with yours.

When not at Hogwarts, you live in Stockport, England, on Spinner's End drive. Your bedroom was the first you'd ever been able to decorate and claim as your own. There's no loose floorboards in this room, you don't need them." Snape looked up with a slightly confused expression at this, but Harry had his eyes closed and was just smiling.

"Your favourite mug is a red striped one, and it's in the cupboard downstairs next to Snape's blue one. Your favourite dinner is beef stew, and you like treacle tart for desert. When you can, you have coffee every morning with breakfast (the only time you drink it), and Snape brought your favourite coffee back from Amsterdam. You spent New Years Eve on the roof of De Bijenkorf, watching the world burst.

You hated Professor Severus Snape as a first, second, third – well until last summer, but he's saved your life more times than you can count. Mrs. Weasley gives you a sweater every year, you never win at cribbage, you're the youngest seeker to make the Gryffindor team in a century, and you have an invisibility cloak. Your mother Lily and your father James died so that you could live. Your dad Severus is the bravest man you've ever known.

You are not responsible for any deaths that happened in this war. You are just a boy.

Harry/Elliot."

Snape looked up and folded the letter, placing it carefully on the nightstand. Harry had fallen asleep, his small body twisted in a bizarre way that didn't look even the slightest comfortable to Snape.

"You have a dad who loves you." Snape murmured, ruffling Harry's hair softly before summoning the quilt blanket and covering the boy. He stood up and stretched silently, pausing for a moment as he considered the bed. A small ruler was on Harry's desk, and Snape transfigured it into a sturdy railing for the side of the bed, in case Harry moved in the middle of the night. Snape closed the door behind him, as he walked down the hall, fully aware that he would be pondering the disturbing points in the letter for the rest of the night.

…..

The rain held off during the morning, Saturday falling cloudy and chilly in Stockport. Harry had woken ridiculously early, and Snape thought it best to take advantage of that and head to the market in town. The Daily Prophet, which Snape had ordered the night before, showed up on time and Snape walked with it under his arm as he and Harry moved towards a bench in the park not far from the market. Harry, who was tottering along slowly beside him, clutched a small bag of just made doughnuts in his hand. Snape sat down on the bench and pulled Harry up into his lap, letting him lean back against his chest.

"And now to see what the vultures have printed." Snape murmured, opening the paper. There were a few families out for a stroll now, as it was later in the morning, but Snape wasn't worried. The Dailey Prophet carried an imbued charm to ensure it just appeared as a foreign language newspaper to any muggle looking at it.

As Snape had suspected, the Prophet was full of cheery aftermath news. The wizarding world had celebrated itself stupid the night before, and likely would again this evening, but neither Mr. Potter nor Professor Snape had been seen at any of the parties. There were rumours amongst the more inebriated members of society of the horrible price they'd paid for Voldemort's death, something that would be disproved once they'd made a re-appearance back at Hogwarts in perfect health. Snape looked down at the black hat covered head that was resting against his neck. Mostly perfect health. During more testing that morning Snape had discovered that Harry had lost a few of his memories, most interestingly the ones in which he'd lost his temper. He did not remember getting into arguments with Umbridge, he did not remember blowing up his Aunt Marge the one summer, but he did remember Lockhart and going to the Quidditch World Cup. Snape figured most of fifth year would be a write-off, as Harry had been channeling Voldemort a disturbing amount of times during that year. Snape held hope however that Harry would remember the skills he'd learned that year, and he wasn't quite sure if Harry losing those memories of when he'd been really angry was necessarily a bad thing.

…

Back at Spinner's End, just as the last bits of sand counted down the end of the twenty-eight hour toddler stint, Harry sat on the library floor. He was sitting on a blanket, a round Shape-O toy in front of him and several of the annoying yellow plastic shapes spread around him. Twinky glared at him from the fireplace, and Harry studiously ignored him as he tried to fit a star shaped bit into a hexagon hole. He thought it was a hexagon, and was getting rather annoyed that the…oh. Star shaped. Harry dropped it and huffed as he picked up another shape. It looked vaguely right, and he knew that he should be concentrating harder on matching the shapes, as that was the entire point of the exercise. But this was rather stupid; he'd never need to do this in real life.

"Twinky, I shall be needing a complete change of linens by tomorrow morning. We will be spending time here intermittently over the next fortnight." Snape ordered, shuffling the stack of paper in his hands. Two laundry bags sat by the fireplace and Twinky stepped out to fetch them, nodding at Harry.

"An improvement" Twinky said, keeping his voice low. Snape, who had honed his hearing around misbehaving students, caught the words anyway.

"Tsk. A bad way to keep business." Snape commented idly.

"My apologies, Sir. Twinky is being rude and out of bounds." The elf bowed, obvious to both that the humbleness was not sincere.

"Da!" Harry said, frustrated with the blocks and Twinky's presence. He'd been hopeful that the horcrux had not damaged his brain much, but it seemed that he couldn't even fit a stupid triangle into a square hole. He lifted his hands up and instinctively pouted, bottom lip protruding a little. Snape heaved a big sigh and picked him up, settling Harry against his chest and turning towards the hallway.

"I have no idea why I oblige you as such. It's time to grow up again, in any event."

Sitting high and secure in Snape's arms and with his head over Snape's shoulder, Harry flashed a smug grin and threw a circular shaped plastic bit at Twinky as Snape walked with him out the room.

Upstairs, Snape double-checked to make sure the nappy was set to banish as soon as Harry's body changed back to its normal size, and placed Harry on his bed.

"Can you stand alone?" Snape asked, pulling the desk chair to the side of the bed. He helped Harry stand up, taking his hands away to the side once Harry had somewhat steadied himself. Harry had been moving about quite easily downstairs and at Hogwarts, but it had always been with something to hold onto.

"Marshmallow." Harry said, scrunching up his face and pointing at the mattress. Snape blinked for a moment before understanding.

"Yes, it is soft." Snape watched Harry very closely as Harry took a hesitant step. Strong arms shot out to catch Harry just as he fell back on his bottom.

"Too soft?"

"Too soft." Harry confirmed. Harry plunked himself back down and Snape covered him with a spare bed sheet. He was lying in just the nappy, and Snape wasn't sure how fast the re-growth into his normal body would happen. The question was also how to get Harry to drink the whole thing at once. It wasn't an overly large amount of potion, but Harry had been drinking out of a sippy cup for the past twenty-eight hours. In the end, Snape just gave him the vial and helped hold it to Harry's mouth as he drank it back.

Snape studied intently as Harry shuddered on the bed and his limbs slowly lengthened, knobby toes with sparse black hair on them sticking out from under the bed sheet, round stocky arms stretching stubby yet well-formed fingers. Harry's hair was unruly and still jet black, the eyes a nice shade of viridian green, but Snape was relieved to see that there was still no scar on his forehead.

If this was how parents felt every time their kid got into something or was sick, Snape was glad he'd never had a biological child. One sixteen year old was enough.

From the bed came a grunt and odd squeaking noise as Harry stretched.

"Hi Dad. Can we have pizza for dessert?" Harry grinned, reaching for the glasses Snape had placed on the side table.

"For dinner?" Snape clarified, his eyebrow raised in hidden relief. "I suppose pizza is in order."

* * *

* "To have a hairy heart" is an old wizarding saying meaning that somebody is cold and unfeeling. For more details, see _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.


	12. Chapter 12 A Broken Thesaurus

AN: Harry's paraphasia described in here is not exactly the typical manifestation of that form of aphasia. I am taking slight creative license with it though to fit both Harry and the story better. Cheers for the reviews, and thanks for your patience! :)

* * *

Ch 12 - A Broken Thesaurus

While Snape went downstairs to sort out the pizza dinner, Harry wrapped his bed sheet around himself like a toga and stood gingerly, stretching and testing each of his limbs to see if he'd lost much in the way of motor control. Everything seemed to be fine, and after a quick glance under the sheet, he was glad to see that all parts of him came through the re-ageing unharmed. Harry walked with light feet out of his room and into the bathroom, running the water hot for a nice well-deserved shower. He flexed his muscles in the mirror, dropping the towel and checking out his reflection. Maybe a shave later, or on second thought he might actually try growing his facial fuzz. Maybe. He got into the shower, whistling rather tunelessly to Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.

Twenty minutes later, Harry entered the living room, wearing a very old and faded pair of jeans that were rolled up at the ankles. They didn't quite hang right, the material obviously cut for someone with longer legs, but they had a comfortable look to them and the stone blue colour went well with the crimson red The Cure shirt that accompanied the look. The watch on his right wrist complimented the mix, its worn brown leather band looking scuffed and faded in all the right spots. The feather tattoo, which Snape hadn't seen in a while due to the glamours at school, stuck out on the pale inner left forearm.

"You better have stopped with the outer garments." Snape warned from his chair, recognising his old clothes of youth.

"All my stuff's in baby size." Harry replied nonchalantly, raking his hands through his hair as he plunked down on the settee. Snape noted that though they were the same size and style, the damn socks still did not match.

"Need I remind you that you are a _wizard_?" Snape replied, marking a spot in the recipe book he was looking at.

"Noooo you need not. But I'm not at the zoo. Warthogs. _Hogwarts_." Harry said, annoyed. "So I can't do magic."

Snape looked up with a contemplative glance. "Watch the attitude. Though the Zoo is a rather fitting substitution. And I don't recall that particular rule ever stopped you from using magic in the summer."

"Maybe I like the clothes." Harry mumbled, picking at the hem of the shirt. He suddenly sat up again, as if he'd remembered what he'd come into the room for. "Can Hermione and Weasley come to the castle for feasts?"

Snape blinked and kept his face neutral.

"Try that again."

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to think first about what he wanted to ask. English hadn't been this difficult previously, and though Snape had explained the paraphasia and how it would be random, Harry was finding it exceedingly annoying.

"Can Hermione and Ron come over to the…to…here for meal. Lunch. Tomorrow?"

"I suppose that is acceptable. You may tell them to arrive via Professor McGonagall's floo around eleven."

Harry flicked his eyes to his watch instinctively, and Snape caught the minute twitch of disappointment that flittered across Harry's face.

"What time is it now?" Snape asked nonchalantly, marking another page of the book.

"It's tea time." Harry answered confidently, and Snape raised his eyebrow. Gryffindor confidence.

"Is it? I usually partake of afternoon tea at three thirty." Snape sounded disinterested in the real answer, but Harry had spent enough time with the man to know that he was being tested.

"Yes, it is." Green eyes stared boldly at black, before they flickered toward the cold kettle sitting on the stove in the kitchen.

"You don't remember how to tell time." Snape stated, his voice soft.

"I can read." Harry retorted defensively.

"What does the watch say?" Snape asked.

"It says fifteen. Well, the shorter hand is pointing to fifteen. The bigger hand is pointing to the ten." Harry had originally liked the sleek watch, despite its tattletale actions when he got into a bind. Once past noon, the numbers on the watch reverted to the later half of the twenty-four hour clock.

"Very well. So it is ten past fifteen. And what is fifteen minus twelve?"

Harry looked at the useless watch, as if it would suddenly pop up with the answer.

"I don't know." Harry slumped back against the couch.

"Three." Snape answered, standing and going to the sink to fill the kettle. "You discovered that you couldn't tell time when you put the watch on?"

"Yes." Harry muttered.

"And why did you not come and ask me for help?" Snape clanged the kettle down on the metal stove coils and turned on the element.

"Because you've just spent a day wiping my arse, I didn't think you wanted to know that I couldn't count to ten anymore." Harry shot back.

"I will _not_ put up with that attitude, Elliot Snape, vanquished Dark Lord or not." Snape pointed a long spoon at him, which he then carefully used to measure tealeaves.

Harry looked down at his feet and ran a socked toe along the seam of the wooden floor.

"Sorry, sir."

"How are you ever going to function in society if you do not realise that you need to ask for help when you require it?"

"I'll just buy a bloody digital watch." Harry groused, standing up and moving into the kitchen to get their mugs.

"You will not. Pure laziness, and insignificant as the exercise is, I will not have you forgetting how to read a proper timepiece over some muggle digital display."

"It's not lazy." Harry argued, bumping against Snape's arm accidentally as he pulled the carton of milk from the fridge. "It's just faster, and then I don't have to bother learning to subtract twelve from whatever when I want to find out if it's time for mugs. Tea."

"Acedia is a sin, Potter." Snape countered, leaning against the back garden door.

"Don't call me Potter." Harry glared. The kettle started to boil and the steam curled up around Harry's shoulder like some mad sort of demon. "And what the hell is aca..aceda..whatever."

"Acedia. Apathy, listlessness. Not being particularly bothered to do something."

"Isn't that laziness? Don't they say 'laziness is a sin'?" Harry asked, flipping off the stove and pouring the tea into the teapot.

"Dante Alighieri refers to it as acedia in The Divine Comedy, but essentially it is the same, and one of the seven deadly sins."

"Be interesting to go for the set." Harry mused, taking a two-pound coin out of the change dish on the counter and spinning it as they waited for the tea to steep a few more seconds.

"I believe I have a head start over you, Mr. Gryffindor." Snape stated smugly from where he was leaning against the door.

"Which one are you missing? It can't be wrath." Harry grinned, pouring Snape a mug.

Snape leaned forward with an answering smirk on his face, which immediately put Harry on guard.

"Luxuria. Lust." Snape said, taking a long drink of tea.

"Lust!" Harry snorted, putting his own tea down as the mug was too hot for his hands. "Didn't get a moment, no a chance, hanging around the death eaters and all?" Harry joked, not seeing the gleam in Snape's eyes until it was too late.

"One should never assume, Elliot. Your mother always had a rather delectable look about her whilst at Hogwarts."

"DAD!" Harry sputtered, the horrified look in his face reminiscent of Munch's The Scream. "That's...just…no…unpopular. No. Wrong! Wrong is what it is."

"Ah, but a good thing to remember when you're feeling a tad overwhelmed with your heroism. Whether prince or pauper, everyone at some point came into being by the messy carnal relations of their parents."

Snape smiled around the rim of his mug as he took another sip of tea. This flavour was rather strong and fresh; he'd have to remember to visit that particular market stall again. Harry was in between imitating a floundering fish and struggling not to say anything he'd regret. It was a most peculiar sight, and Snape found he was rather amused by it. It only took another ten seconds before Harry stomped out of the kitchen, taking his tea up to his bedroom.

Really, Snape thought as he headed back towards his chair and the recipe book. Having a son wasn't nearly as bad as he'd initially feared. Not if his son was that easy to tease.

….

Harry's window was cracked slightly open, the cold and wet air from outside providing enough moisture and chill in the room to make sleeping under the warm duvet rather comfortable. He drifted in and out of sleep for the next hour, finally giving in to his bladder. Stepping out into the hallway, Harry shivered at the drop of temperature and noticed that Snape's bedroom door was open. Harry stepped into the washroom and snorted to himself as he took care of his morning duties. Everyone thought Snape was so meticulous at school, demanding and prim and proper the way he kept his old fashion robes done up so modestly. Meanwhile at home, the man often walked around in just a dress shirt and trousers, and he didn't bother making his bed till noon. Some rubbish about airing out the sheets, Harry recalled as he went back to his own room and pulled on some socks. The floors, even though they were a rather worn and warm wood, weren't the nicest in the morning. Opening the closet, Harry decided to go with one of Snape's old black jumpers atop his grey and green plaid pyjama pants. He took a glance at the bed sheets and grimaced before gathering them up. Just yesterday he'd been wearing ruddy diapers, and now he was making a different sort of mess of his bed.

Downstairs there was still no sign of Snape, but the house had a rather sleepy feeling to it. The neighbourhood hadn't quite woken yet, and there was still the quiet hum of the refrigerator that fought for dominance with the ticking of the library clock. Harry glanced up at it out of habit, refusing to acknowledge his annoyance at not being able to properly read it. There was a smell of coffee lingering in the air, and Harry touched the pot, noting that it was still rather hot. Snape must be around somewhere. The cribbage board still sat on the kitchen table, from the six games they'd had the night before in the effort to re-teach basic math to Harry.

Taking advantage of the empty first floor, Harry walked up to the fireplace and quickly threw some powder in.

"Pain in the Warse Laundry" Harry stated clearly, reading it off a slip of parchment in his hand and thanking whatever deity let him get it out without substituting words.

Thirty seconds later a rather disgruntled looking Twinky appeared in the flames.

"Greetings, Half Wit Snape. Twinky is overjoyed to see you on his Sunday morning."

"I thought my dad spoke to you about that." Harry said, narrowing his eyes.

"Hmmph. Twinky is not treating his most famous family any different. Respect by normal treatment."

It was at that moment that Harry discovered he could actually count. It was in Dutch, but he was still able to count to ten to calm himself down. He just couldn't add or subtract.

"I necessitate the ocean linens bathed. No. I need the ocean –blue- linens to be washed. Today." Harry said, his mouth set in fierce determination as he willed his brain to release the correct words.

Twinky gave him a crude knowing look before accepting the shopping bag of sheets and few random items of clothing through the fire.

"Twinky will be putting it on Master Snape's bill." He said, handling the bag with distaste and then disappearing.

Harry dropped the parchment into the fire and wandered into the kitchen, cursing the stupid elf. He poured himself a cup of coffee and stared at it, knowing he was missing something but not being able to figure it out. He'd been in a rather good mood that morning, extremely grateful that he could wake up properly and not need help getting changed. There had been a pleasant feeling of giddiness when he'd woken feeling like he had for the past five years and then remembering that Voldemort was truly gone. It was like the weight had been lifted off his chest yet again with the memory.

Now, however, he was sorely tempted to draw his wand and curse the coffee cup. Something was missing, and Harry couldn't figure out what it was. Snape had left his spoon in the sink though, and as a last resort Harry picked it up to look at it. There was the residue of coffee on there, but it was lighter than Harry's cup. On impulse, Harry went to the fridge and swung it open, smiling as his eyes fell on the carton of milk. Just as Harry had made his proper morning wake up, he noticed dark movement outside the back kitchen door. Seemed like he'd found Snape.

"Mum would say you'd catch your death out here." Harry murmured, standing at the door and blowing over the top of his mug. It was around the freezing mark according to the little muggle thermometer on the library window beside him, and Snape had been sitting on the back step for god knew how long, in house pants, his nightshirt, and a simple robe. The coffee cup in his hand was no longer steaming, and beyond his gaze was a stone in the side garden wall with similar scratchings to the ones Harry had seen in the tree shelter.

"Would she?" Snape asked, his cold white knuckled hand gripping the mug strongly. "Do you remember her at all?"

It was an honest question, but it hit Harry's stomach like a precisely delivered punch. No, he probably never would remember his mother, or his father, in a real memory.

"Only when there's a dementor around. Then I hear her scream. And his cold laughter."

If Harry had expected a response to that, he was disappointed. Snape sat stiller than before, glaring at the stone wall in front of him and only moving after a moment, his left hand ghosting up to his shoulder to massage the top. It seemed to be sore, and Harry thought at first that it was soreness from the water in the air mixed with the cold. As Snape massaged though, his hair moved to the side and Harry drew in a sharp breath. Running down the side of Snape's neck, from the back of his ear to the shoulder and down under his collar, was a rather thick white scar discoloured from the rest of his skin and jagged edged, as if it had been left to heal on its own.

"Sir, your neck." Harry mumbled. "It's broken…the skin is marked. Scarred." Harry finally finished properly.

"Yes." Snape grunted, pulling his hair forward to cover the scar. It was one that Harry knew could have been fixed by magic by now, as he'd seen Madame Pomfrey work …well…magic with some of the scars he and his friends obtained roughhousing at school. This, however, looked like it had been made with a serrated knife or a curse.

"How length have you possession?" Harry asked, wincing at the words that escaped. "How long have you poss…had it?"

"Fifteen years, three months, and two days." Snape answered, his tone cold and his eyes still not looking at Harry.

"But, you can…"

"Elliot." Snape said, holding up his hand and finally standing up. Harry could tell that he was shivering, but Snape still stood stiffly and finally looked at him with a guarded expression.

"Every request comes with a price. Even the failed ones."

Snape opened the door, dumping the cold coffee off to the side of the wet step.

"What –" Harry tried again but Snape shook his head and pushed Harry into the kitchen with a firm hand across Harry's shoulder.

"Leave it."

…..

Harry paced back and forth in the library after breakfast, glancing to the clock and feeling out of sorts because he wasn't completely sure if it was really close to eleven am or if there was still quite a bit of time until Ron and Hermione got there. Snape was coming upstairs from the lab; his stained canvas potions smock covering a plain white dress shirt and black trousers.

"Have you returned the toys and baby items to the box?" Snape asked, nodding towards the large cardboard box on the floor.

"Yeah. Think I got everything." Harry answered checking his watch again. Neither he nor Snape made any mention of the stuffed platypus that was missing from the box.

"What time is it?" Snape asked, closing the lid and placing a sticking charm on the box to keep it closed.

"Ten and twenty. Ten twenty." Harry answered, sounding a bit unsure at first, but glad Snape had made him repeatedly go over the numbers at breakfast.

"Very good." Snape summoned a marker from the office and picked up the box, thinking for a moment. He seemed to decide on something, and then scratched out his own name from the box. Just below his name, he wrote "Elliot" in big black letters.

"These came for you, a few minutes ago." Snape said in his bored voice, and Harry glanced to see that he was holding a set of freshly laundered bed sheets that looked identical to the ones that were normally on his bed. Harry's cheeks blushed a bright red as he held his hand out to collect them. Instead, Snape banished them, hopefully to Harry's room.

"The horcrux removal did not cause any physical deformities?" Snape asked.

"No!" Harry squeaked, sounding like he was going through puberty again. "I mean, no." Harry finished in his regular voice.

"Perhaps you should purchase a second set of sheets." Snape finished, smirking a little.

"Right." Harry coughed, desperate to change the subject.

Snape opened up the cellar door again and picked up the box, ready to return it to one of the shelves downstairs.

Harry walked to the fireplace, fighting the slow grin that was taking over his face. Harry picked up the jar of floo powder and turned to face Snape, his expression innocent and forlorn.

"Dad? Can I take a special food high sun? You know, as a salutation?"

Snape stopped, one foot at the top step of the cellar stairs, and waited.

"Can I order lunch today. As a thank you." Harry corrected.

"That would be appreciated."

"But I don't have any coloured paper. Pounds. I'll have to spark..no..yell. Order from the marble hut. The Roman square, white block…Gringotts. I have to firecall Gringotts."

Snape waved his hand towards the fireplace in invitation, not reacting to the vocabulary substitutions.

"Yeah. But I don't reckon the watchword. The gremlin commands decoding during flames." Harry clenched his hands, hating how the paraphasia was worse whenever he was nervous. Or up to something.

"You don't remember your password." Snape commented, shifting the box in his hands.

"No. Yes. Gone."

"Ah. Then I believe, Mr. Snape, that you are what the muggles call: shit out of luck."

Harry's eyes widened instantly as he tried to look insulted. Snape turned and looked directly at him, and his expression spoke of amusement.

"Because I think you do know the password. And it'll be a cold day in hell before you ever hear me singing." Snape finished, walking downstairs to the basement.

"Bollocks." Harry said, getting the word right without a thought.

…..

Ron and Hermione arrived right on time and Harry ushered them up to his room, feeling stupidly proud over his ability to do so. Certainly the Dursleys had never made it possible for him to have friends in Little Whinging, Merlin forbid if he'd ever asked to invite someone over. Snape stayed downstairs, however, and took care of the food ordering while Harry explained to his friends what they'd discovered had been the after effects of killing the horcrux.

"So, yeah." Harry summarized. "Sometimes I substitute words in sentences, and I've forgotten some things. Fifth year is a bit of a blur."

Ron sat at Harry's desk, playing with one of Harry's carving tools. Hermione was over by the bookcase, arms crossed and with a fretful expression on her face. Harry glanced between them a few times, waiting for it to all sink in.

"No wonder you've been moody sometimes." Ron finally said staring at Harry's forehead where the scar used to be.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "Harry's just told us he had part of a soul removed from his brain, and you're complaining that he's been moody?"

"Well, but I was, Hermione. Did you know I apparently blew up my Aunt Marge?" Harry asked, unsure why she was annoyed with Ron's comment. Hermione looked as if she wanted to smack both of them.

They spent the next twenty minutes discussing Hogwarts, and Harry was filled in to the reaction of his fellow classmates to the events of Friday. One of the students, a Hufflepuff, had a muggle sister with a peanut allergy, which she'd told the class about when she'd recognised the epi-pen. Harry found that rather lucky, as instead of the class thinking Snape had kidnapped Harry for some sort of nefarious means, they'd all assumed he'd been whisked off to the infirmary after having a bad allergic reaction. Not too far from the truth, which Harry was fine with. Classes were temporarily suspended, Dumbledore's funeral was still scheduled for Monday, even though his body would not be recovered, and Ron warned Harry that there was a celebratory feast for him and Snape later that evening, with reporters.

"Yeah, we know. Snape's carving through his letters in the descent." Harry answered grimly. "Ugh. He's carving the words downstairs. His speech."

"Well, that's … reassuring." Hermione offered. Neither Ron nor Hermione tried to help Harry with the words he was aiming for, for which he was inexplicably grateful. Harry leaned over towards his pillow and pulled the platypus out from the folded knit blanket there.

"Are you going to tell people that you're a Snape? Now that the war is over and all." Ron asked, propping his feet up on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Is it safe to?" Hermione asked from the bookshelf, where she was flipping through Snape's old copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

"I dunno. There's still quite a few death eaters out there, plus some aurors who don't like Snape very much." Harry leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, absentmindedly flopping the platypus' flippers.

"That wasn't the real Moody though, Harry." Hermione pointed out.

"And really, it's Snape. Not a lot of people like him." Ron added helpfully.

"Ron! He's still my dad." Harry laughed.

"Believe me, it's still weird to hear you say that. I can't believe he didn't kill you for getting that tattoo." Ron nodded towards Harry's arm.

Harry smiled and fished his wand out of his pocket. Downstairs he heard banging as Snape brought something up from the cellar. "Accio feather." Harry commanded, watching as Hedwig's old feather popped out of the desk drawer and floated over to him.

"Harry! You're not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts!" Hermione admonished.

"Technically, it is the school year." Ron pointed out, but he looked unsure as well.

"Relax." Harry grinned, holding the feather up to his arm in comparison. "Snape's an adult, and this is registered as a wizard's house. They can't tell if it's him or me doing the magic."

"Are you sure, mate? I mean, there's five adults at the Burrow sometimes, and I still can't do magic at home." Ron said, looking at the window as if he was afraid an owl would apparate to the skies outside.

"I'm sure. I did magic here over the summer a few times, in front of Snape. Not one single letter."

"Had I known over the hols." Ron muttered, no doubt thinking of the revenge he could have wrought on his twin brothers.

"Harry, who is Eileen Prince?" Hermione asked, inspecting his books again.

"Snape's mum." Harry answered, sticking the feather randomly into his messy hair. "The ones that say Tobias belonged to his dad."

"Really? I wonder what his parents were like." Hermione pondered with a glint in her eye. "You never really picture your teachers as regular people, with parents and brothers and sisters."

"Yeah, especially not the vampire-like ones." Ron smirked.

Harry kicked his leg out and hit Ron's foot. "I can verify that there is no coffin in his room."

"Are they alive? Has he ever said anything about this family? Does he have any siblings?" Hermione continued, her curiosity piqued.

"Hmm. No siblings, and I think both of his parents are dead. He never says much about them."

"I wouldn't either, if they were like him." Ron pointed out.

Harry remembered the memory that had escaped during the occlumency lesson the year before at school. "They didn't seem to be pleasant." He agreed. "The one thing he says about them is 'whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.'"

"Euripides." Hermione said thoughtfully. "The Greek gods did have a mean streak to them."

Harry shrugged and played with the platypus some more as Ron poked at Snape's animated drawings on the corkboard.

"Are you actually allergic to bees?" Ron asked randomly.

"Yeah. I uncovered last garden hot day." Harry said, before wincing. "Last summer."

"But why was there a bee in the box anyway?" Hermione asked slowly, studying Harry.

"My map from pumpkin hour." Hermione was watching him with great interest, while Ron was merely blank. "My idea. Before Christmas."

"We were very worried." Ron said, very quietly.

Harry held up his hand and closed his eyes, counting slowly to himself under his breath.

"Één, twee, drie, vier, vijf…"

He kept his eyes closed and thought the words in his mind.

"The danger was full. Snape was grey spot…he was in cover. _Undercover._ Voldemort would have abra cadabra him."

"Just speak how you can, mate." Ron said, no pity in his voice. Just understanding.

"That was high risk to both of you to keep secret though." Hermione pointed out, her fingers nervously twitching over a bag of gobstones that Harry had on his bookshelf.

"No." Harry shook his head, hoping the next bit came out somewhat as intended. "I don't memory James Potter. With the Dudleys, no the Dursleys, I grew up without a father. Now…" Harry waved his hand around his room, at the postcards on his bulletin board, the books on his bookshelf, his clothes in the open wardrobe, and finally at the open door.

"Now I would know what it's really like to not have a dad."

Hermione's lip trembled and Ron looked rather uneasy.

"Oh Harry. But how could you just go alone? The two of you? Not even Professor McGonagall knew where you were and she's part of the Order." Hermione answered, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed.

Harry just shrugged, looking uncomfortable. He flicked his wand at the window, letting more cool air in the room.

"Logic says I should have died two years ago."

"What?" Ron tilted his head up to the side and Harry knew he was counting. "At the tournament?"

"The graveyard." Harry fiddled with the watch on his wrist, pretty sure that it was approaching noon, but he was too distracted to be certain. "Voldemort cast the green spotlight. The killing curse at me."

From the door came a small squeak of the floor, a patch of wood that Harry knew was just beyond the threshold to the hallway on the hinge side.

"It seems," came a rather deep voice, "that I will need to have yet another chat with the headmaster this evening."

Snape was leaning against the doorframe, expression tight but posture of his body rather relaxed.

"Lunch has arrived."

….

The last time Harry felt this tired had been last June, after Sirius had been killed. It wasn't just a physical exhaustion; it was a mental drain from trying to fool everyone into believing that he was fine and handling things well. He heard a faint buzzing sound as a strong hand on his shoulder steered him down the narrow stone corridor, leading away from the loud cheering and laughter in the Great Hall. The welcome back party continued, but Harry had had enough. He was halfway into the room before he realised that Snape had brought him to the staffroom, and that it was not empty.

"Good evening, Baron." Snape greeted, dumping Harry into one of the plush chairs around the conference table in the centre of the room.

"Professor."

Harry blinked, having never heard the Bloody Baron really speak before. Snape removed a pensieve from the cabinet at the far end of the room, placing it on the table. Harry stared at it miserably, his head resting in his hands on the table and his eyes flickering with whatever was fluttering near the sconce above his head.

"This is not necessary." Snape warned, putting the pensieve in front of Harry.

"Yes it is." Harry growled. "How else am I supposed to see what the damage is?"

"I'm sure whatever it is, you'll weather the storm like usual." Snape observed.

"Yeah, right. Not this time." Harry answered, not looking up.

Snape put his wand to his head and drew out his memory of the party. He put it in the basin and gestured in invitation to Harry.

"I don't desire…want…people's pity." Harry mumbled, thrusting his finger into the shimmering liquid and giving a yelp as he was sucked in.

Snape landed beside him not a moment later and they walked through the filled Great Hall, amazed at the excited and such young faces there. At the front of the room they heard McGonagall's introduction, and then came the roar of applause. Even now Harry blushed upon hearing it. He still felt like he'd done only what was required, and nothing more. It was apparent that Snape had similar feelings, as his scowl matched the one that he'd worn earlier in the evening. They watched as the Minister of Magic walked across the stage and lied to everyone in the hall, congratulating Harry and Snape for working so closely to imbue an old and forgotten spell into a potion and rid the world of Voldemort for good.

"You barely substituted words." Snape pointed out, watching Harry thank the minister and the headmistress.

"I fumbled the champagne glass." Harry grumbled.

"They'll think it's nerves." Snape answered. "Quite a few people seem to be interested in that ridiculous tattoo of yours."

"You have an even dumber one." Harry mumbled, not quite quiet enough.

"Excuse me?" Snape growled, turning to glare seemingly through him.

"Involuntary verbal tic." Harry explained, keeping his gaze straight ahead to the podium where the older version of himself was standing. Younger version? Whichever.

"I wasn't able to do this solitary. Alone," started the memory version of Harry, beginning his speech. After a moment the real Snape stopped trying to hex him via a look and watched the front as well.

"No matter what any…crystal ball says, it takes a village strong to accomplish what we've done. My friends, my teachers, the DA…thank you."

Cameras clicked madly at the front of the room amongst the cheers of the students and staff.

"That was a ridiculously short speech." Snape said, standing beside Harry and watching the proceedings.

"What was I supposed to say? I killed a man today, Gryffindor wins the house cup." Harry responded sarcastically.

"You have a macabre sense of humour, Harry Potter." Snape responded. Up on the stage memory Snape stood in front of the microphone.

"I have no desire to be standing up here and talking to you all, so I shall make this short." Memory Snape started, earning a few snorts form the crowd and one from memory Harry.

"You ruined the effect of my speech." Snape stated, smacking Harry lightly across the back of his head.

"I did no such thing!" Harry blurted, grinning. "Look, some first years over there still think you're a vampire." Harry pointed at a group of kids sitting right up near the front podium, eyes wide.

"Freedom is defined as the quality or state of being free. It is the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action and the liberation from slavery or restraint or from the power of another." Memory Snape continued, glaring at the audience in general and making Harry have a flashback to his first ever potions class.

"Because I am a Slytherin, and I do not take my freedom for granted, I decided to collaborate with Potter and create a plan to ensure the defeat of the Dark Lord. While the rest of you were content to allow a runty sixteen year old boy face the biggest threat to the wizarding world since witch burning, I was not."

"Ticely Altum, Wizarding World Weekly. Are you saying that you acted because you didn't think anyone else would?" The interruption came from a short and stick thin wizard who had a bush of curly hair almost bigger than his waist. He looked rather young and green behind the ears.

"That is exactly what I'm saying." Snape deadpanned.

"Iorwen Quinly, Highland Post. Are you calling us cowards?"

"Semantics. If 'woefully complacent' helps you sleep at night, think of it that way instead." Snape responded. Quinly looked affronted, clearly not use to conversing with Snape.

"Mr. Potter! Erika Watson, Daily Prophet. Your mutual hatred of Severus Snape is well known throughout this school. Did he really offer to help you with no strings attached?"

Her expression was partial curiosity and partial disbelief, as if she was just itching to find out what Snape was benefitting from his part in the defeat of Voldemort. Memory Harry took a deep breath and held his hand up, which Harry could see now was trembling slightly. It did quieten the crowd, however.

"Professor Snape has pretty much always hated me." Memory Harry admitted, giving a small smile. Beside him memory Snape slowly crossed his arms across his chest.

"But I've lost colour…count, of how many times he's cap…saved my life. So when he offered to ai…aid me, I trusted him to save my life again." Memory Harry fiddled with his tie, a black one with four very thin stripes in the Hogwarts house colours with the school crest on it.

"It was reported that you were only pretending to be sick in order to trap He Who Must Not be Named." Ticely Altum blurted. "Was that a lie? Why did you need him to save you again?"

A hum filled the room as whispered shot back and forth between the students and reporters.

"No." Memory Harry shook his head. "Trust. I was in a cu…cubicle at a hospital with just Voldemort and Professor Snape. Tiny room." Harry could see that the memory version of himself had started flexing his fingers against his thighs subconsciously to calm down, to keep his concentration and not let the wrong words out.

"Close enough to not need wands." Memory Harry finished with a grim smile.

Watching from the back of the room and unnoticeable by anyone in the memory, Snape didn't keep his comments to himself.

"Pompous arse would wet his pants if he were standing within fifty feet of the Dark Lord."

The room turned fuzzy as the real Snape and Harry were vacuumed up out of the memory and landed back in the staffroom, Snape landing with grace in his chair and Harry slumping into his, a bit motion sick from the memory travelling. When he looked up and cleared his eyes, he saw Minerva McGonagall sitting at the other end of the table, a tray of hot chocolate in mugs beside her.

"It went well, I think." She said, eyeing them carefully. "Just tomorrow to get through."

Harry sat and sipped his hot chocolate, wondering if he could attend Dumbledore's funeral without having to give a speech. He barely registered the small thunk as an energetic beetle tried to fly out the room and misjudged the open windowpane.


	13. Chapter 13 The Stain of Ink

AN: You're all awesome. :) McGonagall's parting quip for Dumbledore is shamelessly stolen from Sara Sidle of CSI.

* * *

Ch 13 - The Stain of Ink

Even though classes were cancelled for Monday, in light of Headmaster Dumbledore's funeral, the Great Hall was still full in the morning with students on time for breakfast. Harry sat with his friends at the Gryffindor table, wearing his comfy black knit jumper against the chilly January air. Above them came a sudden icy blast as the windows opened and owls rushed the room, the majority of them carrying newspapers and celebratory parcels at home. Harry, who'd been debating the seeker skills of the Appleby Arrows versus the Chudley Cannons, paused in his speech to notice that the room had gotten a bit quieter. He felt a small sense of dread in his stomach as Hermione made a tittering sound and opened the newspaper, spreading it out on the table.

"_THE TAINTED BOY?"_ was the headline, and underneath was a full-page photo of Harry, his head resting in his hands and perched upon a large wooden table, that Harry instantly recognised as the staff room table. Anger flushed to his face upon seeing it, as that had been a private moment to unwind after the feast and he wondered just how the hell Skeeter had gotten the photo, before realising that the slight blurriness in the shot was not done for artistic measure. It was a picture taken from a memory.

"That bitch." Hermione muttered, causing Ron to gasp as Harry read on.

_Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, took some time yesterday after the welcome back feast at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to pull himself together. Curiously, he sat in the staff lounge of Hogwarts, kept company by Potions Master Professor Severus Snape. Together Mr. Potter and Professor Snape defeated He Who Must Not Be Named this Friday past at a muggle hospital in central London, by faking an illness and subsequently suffocating You Know Who with an ancient potion. Questions are starting to arise from this version of events, however, as it seems a deceitfully simple end to one of the darkest wizards since Gellert Grindelwald. _

_This is hardly the first time that Professor Severus Snape has been in the public eye, as he stood on trial in December of 1980 for crimes committed as a Death Eater. Though staunchly defended by then Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Professor Snape's harsh and demanding demeanour, along with his continued association with families such as the Malfoys (for full coverage of the Malfoy family history and recent failed escape of accused attempted murderer Draco Malfoy from St. Mungo's, please see page four), have lead many to believe that Severus Snape's Death Eater days are not as far behind him as it seems. _

Harry gritted his teeth as he read the article, only pausing at Ron's choke of pumpkin juice.

"Merlin, Snape looks like he's about to crucio the newspaper."

Harry looked up and was almost relieved to see Snape looking that pissed off. That meant that not only would they have an answer to the newspaper article, but that Snape would likely eviscerate Skeeter the next time he saw her.

_While Snape is also a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall has confirmed that the Order was unaware of the plans Snape and Potter carried out on Friday, leading one to believe that perhaps a new leader of the Order has emerged, and Severus Snape has found another master._

_Moments after this photo was taken, Snape removed his memories of the evening to a pensieve, as a shaken Harry Potter demanded to review the evening. "I want to see what the damage is," Potter said, referring to the feast. Was Potter speaking of the mistakes made in his less than perfect speech, or alluding to more personal plans? If he had expected things to have gone terribly wrong at last night's cheerful celebrations, one must wonder what Potter had planned for the evening originally._

Harry looked up and saw a lot of his fellow students staring between him and Snape, who seemed to have gone an unhealthy shade of white. Harry figured it was from the 'found a new master' paragraph.

_Or perhaps there is something else on the mind of the Gryffindor Saviour. Though it has been kept under wraps, it appears that Harry Potter, at sixteen, is an emancipated wizard. His Muggle relatives (with whom he resided after his parents' deaths) previously relinquished all guardian rights towards Potter, under very strict nondisclosure terms that are now only beginning to come to light. While the protective order surrounding the guardianship status is heavily warded, the boy's Muggle relatives alluded to trouble at the home and when shown a photo of Professor Snape, recognised the man immediately. The familial split was strongly confirmed, along with some rather alarming accusations surfacing from the boy's uncle, who cannot be named at this time._

Harry pushed his plate of breakfast away and didn't bother looking up from the table. He wasn't sure if he was going to be sick or if the tears that were pricking the sides of his eyes were going to escape. An excellent way to start a Monday. Harry scowled and left the table, followed silently by Ron and Hermione.

….

Back in the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry sat listlessly on the couch while Ron went over the article again.

"She's basically hinting that you're the next Voldemort." Ron huffed, throwing the paper down in disgust.

"Don't forget the whole Snape being my evil henchman." Harry grumbled. "I can't believe she peered the fake tree."

"She did what, Harry?" Ron looked up, confused.

"Vernon. She location, no _found _Uncle Vernon."

"What was the point of that, really? You just killed Voldemort! You could be half house-elf and half Veela and they should still be lining up to kiss your arse." Ron exclaimed.

Chatter suddenly filled the room as the portrait door opened and students started returning, the younger ones dutifully hanging up their thick robes and mittens on the hooks in the front dorm entryway. The older ones just passed into the room, banishing their robes to their rooms as they went. Some still carried the newspaper, but most stopped to look at Harry, Hermione and Ron as they sat near the fire. Harry felt his face burn, much like it had at the beginning of fifth year when no one had believed him that Voldemort was back.

"So how much of that was rubbish, Harry?" Seamus asked, tossing his paper near the fire. "You've always hated Snape."

"Would you rather I still did and Voldemort still be alive?" Harry asked pointedly, glaring at his housemates warily. He was glad that his vocabulary was still making sense.

"Is it true what they said about him being a death eater?" Maurius Craggsworth asked, a thin and angular seventh year that looked eerily like Percy.

"Professor Snape was Professor Dumbledore's spy." Hermione answered quietly. "For almost twenty years."

Harry flinched at Hermione's confession, knowing that Snape would probably not be pleased that his secret had just been given away to a bunch of Gryffindors. Then again, who knew what the Evening Prophet would have to say, if Rita Skeeter was still in the castle and determined to leave no stone uncovered, as it were.

Dennis Creevey was the first to break the silence.

"Harry? Are you really going to get Snape to do your evil bidding?"

Harry blinked twice before letting out a defeated harsh laugh.

"Right. I can't do this." Harry mumbled, pulling himself out of the chair and storming towards the door. The other Gryffindors parted immediately like some sort of macabre showing of Moses parting the red sea.

"As if anyone could control Snape." Ron muttered, letting Harry go. He'd seen enough of Harry's moods over the years to know when to stay back.

More than twenty minutes later, and after repeated reassurances in the common room that Snape actually was a good guy, Hermione and Ron managed to find Harry seated up at the top of the hall of moving staircases He was leaning against a plain wooden blue door and perched on a small platform that was trying unsuccessfully to unseat him.

Flittering around on the other staircases were approximately thirty-five slinkies, tackling the moving stairs with varying speeds and jumping with ease between them as the staircases moved. Harry had even charmed them to return to the top of a set of stairs once they'd reached the ground floor, accompanied by an overly cheerful chirping sound as they did so.

"You realise when Mrs. Norris sees this that she's going to have a seizure trying to decide which one to go after." Ron grinned, plunking down next to Harry on the groaning step platform. Harry's mouth twitched and Hermione huffed a smile.

"They are rather calming to watch." She pointed out.

"Do they think I'm the Heir of Voldemort now?" Harry grumbled, rubbing the side of his head with his wand.

"Harry James Potter, will you _stop_ doing that?" Hermione ground out, snatching his wrist and moving the wand away from his temple.

"Dunno, mate. We tried, at least." Ron shrugged apologetically.

"Come on Harry, we've got a few hours to kill before lunch and the…Professor Dumbledore's funeral. Let's go practice the charm lesson you missed on Friday."

Ron stared at Hermione as if she'd come from another planet, but Harry stood up, looking for any sort of distraction.

He barely noticed as they passed McGonagall on their way to the charms classrooms on the third floor, and he wondered how Snape was handling being accused of serving another master yet again.

….

"Serpensortia." Snape incanted, flicking his wand in a half circle, half stab movement. An elegant black rat snake slithered forth from his wand, landing on the table gracefully and lazily looking around. Slowly other staff members started to enter the room, becoming instantly wary as they noticed Snape sitting at the table with a smirk on his face as he animated a small white dot on the wood with his wand and watched the snake chase it.

"Good morning, Severus." Flitwick greeted, climbing up into his chair.

"Filius." Snape nodded, putting the dot on the snake's tail and confusing it. The snake's attention was diverted temporarily by a small bug that flew dangerously close to it. "Are your Ravenclaws sorted for this afternoon?"

Flitwick, slightly taken back by the question, took a moment to think. "They've been hit hard, as have the rest of the school. But they will manage."

"As we do." Snape acknowledged. He banished the snake, finally noticing that everyone seemed to be staring at him.

"You're taking the article this morning rather well, Severus." McGonagall stated carefully.

"When that wretched paper prints something correct about me, then I shall be worried." Snape answered crossly. "And the less you are informed of my opinion of Ms Skeeter, the less you can be questioned about later."

"Do try not to get arrested, Severus." McGonagall commented, settling into her chair at the head of the table. He waved an impatient hand at her.

"How is your son doing?" Professor Sprout asked, noting the newspapers piled up next to Snape. She took a seat near Flitwick and sipped at her herbal tea. "And where is he?"

Three cups and four saucers by the kitchenette sink smashed to the floor as Professor Trelawney, of all people, failed to hide her shock over hearing that Snape had a son.

"I have no idea where he is. I assume he is with his friends, likely in the kitchen or somewhere they shouldn't be." Snape said, glancing at his watch out of habit to see that all was well. "He is sustaining."

"Is that why you have called this meeting?" McGonagall asked, sending a quick reparo in Trelawney's direction. "The paper has ostracised him a few times from the students."

Her voice was softer and she nodded towards the accursed paper, face up with the picture of Harry sitting in that very room, the lost and miserable expression still on his face.

"Harry Potter is your boy?" Madame Hooch asked, with a snort of disbelief. "Did you have some sort of scandalous affair and cover up with Lily Potter?"

"_Rolanda_." McGonagall admonished while Sprout giggled into her mug.

"He is adopted." Snape said, raising his eyebrow in mock annoyance.

"But then, none of us had any idea! It's always seemed like you've hated him." Flitwick protested.

"Of course it did. As long as the mark on my arm was active, it was never to appear as anything else." Snape responded smugly.

"Yes, well. You fooled them all, Severus." McGonagall complimented, sounding as if she were speaking to a ten year old. "What are you going to do about the newspaper? Unless you wish to set the record straight?"

"I hardly think there will be any accusations of favouritism." Hooch smirked. Around the room there was small laughter.

"Merlin forbid." Snape muttered. "I will work on the newspaper issue. What I would like to request from each of you is a form of leniency."

Snape held up his hand to stop the arguments before they started.

"Not with his grades. Harry is sometimes affected by paraphasia, and this occurs more frequently when he is angered or experiencing stress. I would ask each of you to not make a significant deal out of the issue. If you do not understand him, merely ask him to explain what he is attempting to say again."

There was silence in the room as the information was absorbed, and finally nodding heads.

"Is this an after effect from killing You Know Who?" Professor Vector asked, looking as if she'd stumbled upon an old and forgotten puzzle.

"Yes. And we are aware of the exact cause." Snape answered evenly, his message coming through clearly. Leave it alone.

An uneven thumping sound came from the hallway and for a second a rather painful wheeze accompanied it, before the door banged open and a rather unhinged Argus Filch exploded into the room.

"Dark magic! Curses!" He hunched over, catching his breath as Mrs Norris circled his feet angrily.

"Argus! What is cursed?" McGonagall snapped, impatient for him to stop wheezing.

"The grand staircases. One of the little brats must have done it; lots of drunken silver flobberworms stamping down the stairs. They're little metallic things, and they have brains, I tell you. They're waking down the stairs _by themselves._ It's a curse, and I'll bet a good galleon Potter has something to do with it."

Filch looked close to having a coronary as he shook his finger menacingly, and Snape almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"Yes, I can certainly see how you would be frightened out of your wits by a six year old's muggle toy." Snape said mildly his eyes glittering with amusement.

"I'm certain we can all honour your request regarding Harry's paraphasia, Severus." McGonagall interrupted, before Filch could counter with anything nasty.

"Thank you, I ap – _Christ_." Snape cursed, holding up his burning watch. He stood up quickly and moved towards the door, not even bothering to say goodbye. McGonagall called to him just as he pulled open the door, as she stood herself.

"They were headed to the charms corridor, last I saw."

…..

Harry stared at the bowl of rice grains in front of him, taking a calming breath. This should be easy, it was a simple replicating charm. He pointed his wand at the bowl, listening to Ron and Hermione argue over what kind of rice was best to eat, health wise. He pointed his wand at the bowl and muttered the replicating charm Flitwick taught them. His rice bowl doubled immediately, filling with identical brown grains that were in it before. Beside him, Ron finally said that it didn't matter what type of rice it was, as long as it was cooked well.

Harry poked the bowl again. "What happens if we engorge it?"

"Harry, the assignment just said to fill the bowl." Hermione commented distractedly, trying to shield her bowl from Ron's waving wand. She didn't bother to correct his word usage.

"Ennervate" Harry said, ignoring Hermione. He blinked as the bowl shuddered, and tried again. "Incendio."

The bowl burst into flames and Harry panicked. "No! That's red inked…imperio! Impervious!"

The bowl started shaking badly, flames licking up over the sides and the rather sickening smell of burnt dry rice started filling the air. Harry felt tugging on his arm, his wrist throbbing under the watch as Ron pulled him away from the table. Harry's tense muscles screamed at him to do something, and he kept his wand pointed at the bowl.

"Hose! Hose!" Harry slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration, knowing he wasn't getting the words right. Hermione, acting fast, put out the fire with her own well-aimed aguamenti charm. Scorch marks covered the table and half of Harry's notes were ruined, either burnt away or covered in water. The bowl was a crispy mess and every occupant of the portraits in the room stared at him as he scrunched his eyes and wrenched away from Ron.

"Shit!" Harry swore, kicking the table. The door banged open and Snape marched into the room, strong and steady stride as if he were punishing the stones he walked on. His eyes searched the room rapidly and immediately fell upon Harry, who had picked up the still hot bowl and threw it at the chalkboard in anger. It smashed against the wall just as Snape grabbed Harry, one arm strongly clamping over his shoulder and connecting with the other, which Snape had hooked under Harry's wand arm. He forcibly pulled a squirming Harry back from the burnt table, ignoring everyone else in the room.

"Stop! Take a breath!" Snape commanded, his voice loud right next to Harry's ear. Harry was a pent up ball of frustration however, and his tense body struggled against Snape's.

"Fuck! The vase and the worms, no white dogs. Dots. Argh! Nothing go ahead!" Harry sputtered, frustration emanating from his body. McGonagall had arrived and stood to the back of the room with Hermione and Ron, all watching the scene before them.

"Breathe. Then tell me, Elliot." Snape continued, his voice low and only for Harry.

"Fire came, no..no fire pit. Impervious to make bigger, restaurant power acceptable." Harry blurted, his breath hitching as he tried not to cry in frustration. Sensing that Harry wasn't going to smash anything further, Snape loosened his grip and Harry turned to face Ron and Hermione. He pointed at the bowl of rice, and then tried again.

"Easy the kitchen kaleidoscope, refreshment free from wood calling to the vase." Harry ground out, his expression angry and pained as he failed to make any sense.

Hermione took a step forward, but a glare from Snape stopped her. Harry clenched and unclenched his hands, his head downcast as he held out his wand towards Snape, handle out. Snape took it, keeping a close distance to Harry.

"Practise your occlumency for a moment, and then tell me what is wrong." Snape said, sounding a lot calmer than anyone else in the room. There was dead silence in the class, with the exception of a quiet dry hiccough from Harry once in a while.

Finally, Harry looked up and straight at Snape, his grimace of pure self loathing and twisted as if Snape should know already exactly what was wrong.

"Merlin's second nature simple dinner cooking for the child room." Harry pointed at his head and glanced towards his friends, his shoulders slumped. "Broken."

"Harry…" Hermione breathed, her expression soft and full of pity. Ron looked equally lost, unsure whether Harry needed reassurance or to pretend nothing was wrong. Harry shook his head as he then went to say something more, pointing at where his brain was again.

"Broken."

"That is an inappropriate conclusion." Snape finally answered, putting the wand back into Harry's hand and turning him to face the table. He lifted Harry's wand arm and pointed it towards the front chalkboard, where the shattered bowl lay.

"Reparo." Snape said lowly, right beside Harry's ear.

"Reparo." Harry whispered, tired and defeated now. The shattered bowl pieces skittered across the floor as they danced around the grains of rice and merged back together.

"Evanesco." Snape prompted, pointing the wand at the scorch marks on the table.

"Evanesco." Harry repeated, watching as the marks sunk into the wood and wove into the wood grains.

"Accio rice and bowl." Snape finished, flicking the wand. He nudged Harry to repeat him when it seemed like Harry wouldn't.

"Accio rice and bowl." Harry dutifully muttered, using the bowl as a mitt to catch the rice.

Snape let go of his arm before clamping a firm grip down on Harry's shoulder and turning him towards the door.

"We shall be in my quarters." Snape proclaimed in a tone that dared anyone to object. Not a word was spoken and Snape swiftly marched Harry out of the room.

…

"Tell me what happened." Snape demanded, pushing Harry to sit down in his wingback chair and passing through to the kitchen.

"Dad. Mouth and thinking bit…brain. Out of order. Can't connect…speak properly." Harry protested, his voice full of annoyance. Snape came back into the room after fishing through the kitchen cabinet, handing Harry a calming draught.

"I didn't tell you to say it perfectly." Snape growled, "I want you to tell me in your own words why you almost set the classroom on fire."

"Engorgio jinx, charm, accidentally said as ennervate." Harry glared back as he swallowed the potion. "Then fire came. Incendio."

"And you didn't stop after the first wrong spell?" Snape asked, sounding annoyed.

"Reparo. Tried to recharge it. Fix it." Harry slumped in the couch, arms crossed like a petulant child.

"But you let yourself get panicked and frustrated, which made the paraphasia worse." Snape countered.

"Yes!" Harry spat, standing up out of the chair. "I tried to change myself, but I didn't repair it."

"And you're angry about it now?" Snape provoked, standing up as well. "Because you couldn't get a spell right? Because you're not perfect?"

"I'm broken. Fuck." Harry cursed, throwing the vial into the fireplace, where it smashed against the back black stones.

"You are not." Snape hissed, grabbing Harry's shoulders and spinning him to face Snape. "Smash anything else and you will be gluing it back together the muggle way. You don't just get to be angry over what happened to you. You have brain damage."

Harry blinked as those words set in. They'd discussed missing skills and memories constantly over the past two days, but it had never been given a label. Snape saw the recognition too.

"Your brain is damaged." He repeated. "It was not your fault, but it is irreversible. You either deal with it, or you let it consume you."

"Easy as cupcake for you, you don't explode the shelter every time you make tea." Harry huffed.

"You'd have to be an idiot to burn tea, Elliot." Snape responded sarcastically.

"I know I'm stupid!" Harry burst, getting out of the chair. "Don't recollect me!" Harry was frustrated with Snape and himself, and unsure of how to fix the Daily Prophet's article. The calming draught was starting to work, however, and his angry pacing was more of an irritated saunter as he passed back and forth in front of the fireplace.

"Enough!" Snape snarled. He jabbed his wand into the air and silently summoned Harry's shoes, thrusting them towards Harry.

"You're kicking me up? Out?" Harry asked, stilling as he dropped his shoes to the floor.

"I'm sending you on a walk so you can think things out and I don't do anything rash. Dobby!"

The little elf popped into view between Harry and Snape, thirteen various tea cosies swaying almost trance-like from his head. He opened his mouth to greet them but snapped it shut upon sensing the spark of angry magic in the room.

"Fetch Elliot's invisibility cloak, the Marauder's map, and his babelfish."

"Yes, sir, Master Snape sir." Dobby squeaked, reappearing less than two minutes later. Snape kept everything but the cloak and sent Harry out the door, with the instructions not to be seen by anyone and to be back in twenty minutes.

…..

Hard rubber smacked rhythmically against the uneven stone floors of the dungeons as Harry walked deeper into the darkness, the few wall sconces throwing bizarre shadows against the walls as the flames flickered. He could hear the sounds of chattering and laughter from other students, Slytherins, around the corners and down other twists of hallways, as if they were all in some sort of mad fun house maze. Harry finally stopped as he came to the familiar wooden door, taking another breath of air and admitting to himself that Snape had been right. The walk had helped, though he'd thrown on his cloak quickly after encountering a group of seventh years. "Family not good enough for you, Lord Potter?" still rang in his ears as an ugly sneer.

"Is he still there?" Harry asked, looking at the little carved snake in the door hinge.

The snake twisted its small tail and wriggled around on the hinge, circling before hissing at Harry.

"Don't make faces at me, I interrogated you if black material resided." Harry growled, looking around to make sure no students were approaching.

More hissing came in return, and the snake flicked a tiny carved tongue out almost angrily. Around the corner sounded a large crash, as if someone had dropped a stack of books, and Harry instantly looked that way, irritated.

"For the love of, just le…" Slowly, Harry turned his head back around and stared at the snake.

"You don't understand me." Harry said, his face blanching.

The snake hissed something back and swirled around on the hinge again.

"I negative, I don't comprehend grass vowels." Harry continued distractedly. With the removal of the horcrux he'd lost his parseltongue. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? The parseltongue had only ever caused him trouble, from being locked in the cupboard for a week for setting the python on Dudley, to branded an outcast on suspicion of being Slytherin's heir. Being a parselmouth had set him apart from his classmates, it was something that dark wizards were, and it had been a solid and undeniable link to Voldemort. In second year he would have given anything not be a parselmouth, not to be standing on the duelling platform in the Great Hall, Snape standing on one side with a shrewd calculating look, a bemused Lockhart on the other, and a hundred students staring at him grotesquely.

Normality was what he wanted, whatever normal was for the wizarding world, and a parselmouth was not that. But that didn't explain why he felt like he'd lost another part of himself.

"Down at Fraggle Rock." Harry muttered, pushing open the door and walking inside.

The hallway was dark and empty, and Harry hung his outer robe up on the menacing coat hanger, kicking off his shoes as he entered into the main living room. The wall sconces and chandelier lit automatically as he entered, but there were no other signs of life in the flat. Snape was either in his own room or had left for his own walk.

Harry slumped down on the couch, picking up a small mirror that was resting on the side table. In a few hours would be Dumbledore's funeral. A pale face stared back at him from the mirror, shaggy black hair that was longer than usual and stood up in all the wrong directions framing a pasty white face and a clear forehead. No matter how many times he looked, it always seemed startling not to see the lightning bolt scar mocking him. His eyes were still the same viridian green that his mother had, but the irises were darker from seeing too many things that he should never have, and reflected against the small circles under his eyes.

Chapped lips and lopsided glasses completed the look, as well as patchy stubble that was growing around his chin and neck, one of the reasons he'd needed to see Snape today. He'd forgotten the shaving charm. To his left, the door to Snape's bedroom opened and his dad walked out, hair damp and with a small blue hand towel draped over his left shoulder.

"Are you calmer now?" Snape asked, smoothing something small and yellow over in his fingers.

"I'm not a present speech." Harry said glumly.

"I did not quite catch that." Snape said, stilling his hands.

"Parseltongue is gone." Harry corrected.

"Ah." Snape crooked a finger at him and Harry stood, walking over towards Snape.

"Was there any particular snake you wished to relay a message to?"

Harry stopped and looked at Snape, confusion over his face.

"I..er..well no. But you need the scrapings, no the skin and ivory…teeth," Harry gritted, "for your beer. Potions."

Snape looked like he was trying not to smirk.

"I have a memory of you speaking parseltongue, the exact words needed to enter the Chamber of Secrets." Snape commented, not sounding all that bothered by the prospect of not being able to retrieve things from the basilisk. Then again, if Rita Skeeter had been able to produce the newspaper picture of Harry from her memory, Snape could probably produce the snake language as well.

"Put this in." Snape commanded, handing over Harry's babelfish. Harry scrunched his face, but slipped the squirming yellow wormlike gadget into his ear. He suddenly remembered what he was going to tell Snape and blurted it out before he could forget.

"The newspaper picture was a memor-woah." Harry blinked as he heard his own voice repeated softly in his head.

"A memory?" Snape asked, his eyes focused.

"Why can I hear myself?" Harry asked, rubbing the bottom of his ear gently.

"Because the babelfish is repeating your words, to keep your speech on track. Why do you say the newspaper photo is a memory?" Snape prodded.

"I sound weird." Harry said, tilting his head on an angle as he listened to his own voice parroting himself.

"Elliot! Focus." Snape tsked in irritation.

"She's a bug animagus." Harry said, lowering and raising his voice to test the difference in volume. "She must have been in the room last night."

"And you've known this since when?" Snape's voice carried an annoyed edge to it, much like it did in class when Harry had missed something obvious.

"Since the Triwizard tournament." Harry said, his focus completely on topic now. "But I only just remembered it earlier."

"And you didn't think it prudent to tell me this straight away?" Snape demanded, pulling his frock cuffs straight around his wrists.

"I just pensed it! I've had a lot on my brain today with everyone thinking I'm the next dark king!" Harry snapped back.

"What did I tell you about the attitude?" Snape warned, grabbing Harry's shirt and making him stand straight. "You have been remarkably well behaved since you came to my home last summer, and the old arrogant Potter has disappeared. Do not go back to that now, I will absolutely not stand for disrespect. Not from my son." Snape let go of his shirt and Harry stumbled back.

"I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated." Harry mumbled, keeping his eyes downcast.

"This is not about the article." Snape stated, tapping his foot.

"I almost set fire to a bloody classroom today, because I said the wrong spell. What if I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life? What if I never get better?"

"You will." Snape said, arms crossed as he scrutinized Harry.

"How do you know?" Harry asked slowly.

"Because Potters never usually know when to quit, and Snapes are too proud to give up," his dad answered immediately.

"Pride, another of the deadly sins." Harry muttered, rubbing his ear where the babelfish was. It was squirming a little and felt odd.

"One hundred and eighty-seven." Snape immediately countered, his face curiously blank.

"What?"

"One hundred and eighty-seven is the number of howlers I received upon my first day as a professor, fifteen years ago. I was twenty-one."

Snape gave Harry a pointed look with a raised eyebrow, and Harry blinked. The lines around Snape's face betrayed a rough life, but his face wasn't scarred and his eyes still had fierce light in them. The jagged mark on his neck, the favour from Voldemort that he refused to talk about, was hidden by his long hair and high cuff of the old fashioned shirt he wore. Snape looked much the same that he always did in his strict black Edwardian frock coat, but his shoulders were held a fraction higher. Snape was a free man, finally.

"They don't like us much, do they?" Harry finally said, knowing that the howlers hadn't stopped at one hundred and eighty-seven.

"You will get used to it." Snape answered. "Now tell me what time it is, you need to do something with that hair and get ready for the funeral."

Harry glanced at his watched and concentrated.

"It's ten past bugger off." Harry mumbled, walking towards the washroom. He suddenly yelped and started scurrying, dodging another stinging hex along the way.

…

The funeral for Dumbledore was held in the front courtyard, and it didn't take long for Harry to find either Ron or Hermione. The students still parted when they saw him, something that he begrudgingly appreciated as he made his way to his best friends. The weather was absolutely miserable for a cold January Scottish day, and before Harry was allowed to leave Snape's flat he'd been wrapped up in a warm wool cloak, his own apparently not dressy enough for the occasion. Harry was also wearing a dark green tie of Snape's, one that his dad didn't know he'd nicked.

He sat nestled between Hermione and Ginny, the former who had her head resting on Ron's shoulder, and the latter who was staring at the centuars and other forest inhabitants that had come onto one of the fields below. Harry didn't hear most of the speeches that were said, and he didn't recognise many of the older witches and wizards that had come to pay their respects.

Instead, Harry sat and thought about the past five and a half years that he'd known the headmaster, from the very moment on the train he'd seen the chocolate frog wizard card of the man, to the cold determination in the blue eyes as he'd taken the final portkey. Whatever grudges he'd had with how the headmaster had handled things over the years, Harry felt at peace knowing he'd stayed Dumbledore's man to the end. Even after Harry's slight fallout in the fall, Dumbledore had trusted both him and Snape to carry through their tasks.

He looked up to the side of the courtyard, where the Hogwarts staff stood, dressed sombrely and standing in silent respect. Harry figured they were doing the same as him, remembering the headmaster they knew. As he moved from face to face, from McGonagall's tear stained one, to Snape's stony neutral expression, Hagrid's open sobbing, and the dabbing of a handkerchief to Madame Pomfrey's cheeks, Harry wondered if Dumbledore had ever had a lover, or if he'd given his life for the school.

A signal sounded that broke Harry out of his thoughts, and they all filed out of the courtyard to the front lawn that stood proudly in front of Hogwarts. Harry and his friends kept to the back and looked over the blur of heads that made up the younger and shorter students standing in front. A solitary figure, dressed in dark robes, made his way across the field and towards a freshly dug hole in the ground, an elegant yew tree wrapped in burlap floating behind him. Snape had mentioned that Aberforth Dumbledore had fought the Ministry for the right to spearhead the ceremony, though Harry hadn't caught the reason why. It was something to do with a family debt, and it was left at that.

The yew was planted, a powerful spell from Aberforth keeping the snow away and warming the ground. He lifted his arm steadily, the wand of his brother pointing to the sky, before leaning down and pressing the wand into the tree, deep at the base by the roots. Dirt was spelled over the hole, solidifying its presence, and slowly the snow seeped back to cover it as if it were a warm blanket. Aberforth stepped back, ignoring the crowd as the tree shuddered to life in front of him, its branches swaying slightly in the still January air.

"For every one that parts, one stands above ground." Professor McGonagall murmured, forgetting that her voice was still under the sonorous charm.

…

The common room was very subdued after the funeral. Dinner wouldn't be for another two hours or so, and as classes had been cancelled for the day, the students were milling around in the dorms and free to roam to other parts of the castle as well. Harry and Ron escaped up to the empty dorm room, promising they'd meet Hermione for dinner later. Harry sat on his own bed, facing Ron and slowly undoing his tie. Snape's tie. He kicked off his shoes, one of them disappearing under his bed, and hung the dress cloak up on a hook that was on his bedpost.

"That's a nice cloak, Harry." Ron said, sprawling out on his own bed.

"It's Dad's. He made me wear it 'cause it looks nicer than my regular one." Harry yawned, stretching out on his stomach and pulling his glasses off.

"Your…Dad?' came a questioning voice from the corner. Harry lifted his head and through the blur realised that Neville had been resting on his own bed, silently reading a book behind mostly hidden curtains.

"Neville…" Ron started, exhaling a breath.

"You mean Snape, don't you?" Neville asked, his voice carrying an inner confidence that hadn't been there his first few years at Hogwarts. He ignored Ron and stared straight at Harry.

"Yeah. He adopted me a while ago." Harry was propped up on his elbows now, scruffy hair partially obscuring his eyes. His posture almost challenged Neville to make a big deal of the news.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but that does explain why he's hated you so much all these years." Neville finally answered, closing his book.

"It does?" Ron asked, not mentioning that the adoption was rather recent.

"Well, if Snape was a spy, he'd have to look like he hated Harry."

Harry sat up in bed suddenly, knocking his spectacles to the ground as he remembered what had been bothering him. He groped for his wand and pointed it at the empty space in the middle of the room.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry commanded, remembering a warm sunny day in Amsterdam when he'd fallen asleep at an outdoor café, sitting in Snape's lap and listening to the Benson family talk around him.

A white energetic blur stumbled into the room and Harry's mouth dropped as he watched his patronus nearly fall into the fire gate. Trevor the toad looked unimpressed, sitting bored on the end of Neville's bed.

"What happened to your stag?" Ron asked, barely able to rein in a snort. Neville was snickering as well and Harry summoned his glasses as if to ensure he was really seeing what he thought he saw. His patronus, instead of being a fully grown stag, appeared to have changed into a young fawn, with impossibly long unsteady legs, a short snout and very large ears that looked like they could intercept a radio signal. The very large eyes looked up at him and blinked, before the fawn snorted and nearly knocked itself on its arse. Ron gave up and burst into laughter.

"It's really cute, Harry." Neville coughed, looking like he was about to laugh too. Harry ignored them both, and focused on the fawn.

"Tell Severus Snape that the tick, no spi…_bug_ is a car. A beetle." Harry said, giving the patronus a nod. It nuzzled his hand for a few seconds before turning and bounding off, running surprisingly fast on it's unsteady legs.

The room was quiet again and Harry looked up towards Neville, his breath hitched.

"What's your real name now?" Neville asked curiously, catching Harry off guard.

"Elliot Fyodor Snape." Harry answered, still waiting for Neville to say something about his father being a sadistic greasy git. Beside him, Ron lay back in his own bed and pulled a quidditch magazine open.

"Sounds like a proper strong name." Neville answered mildly.

"It was supposed to be my normal life to escape to. The non-famous one." Harry shrugged, picking at the watch on his wrist. He'd always considered Neville to be a good friend, one that even though he was rather shy, would be loyal to what he believed was right.

"It's alright, Harry. I'd give anything to have my parents back, but I've at least got my Gran and my Uncle." Neville said, opening his book again. Trevor croaked and slowly shifted on the book he was sitting on.

Harry smiled and settled down for a short nap, preparing for whatever else the newspaper decided to expose in its evening edition. He scrunched his hands up under his pillow, missing the steady hum from the radiator in his room at Spinner's End. He had absolutely no doubt as to why Neville was sorted into Gryffindor.


	14. Chapter 14 You're Home Again

AN: A note for you all at the end, a big thanks. I've got a few scenes that didn't make it in, which will probably be posted as one shots later. :) Also a very big thanks to Pygmy Puff of Doom, who has been a great source of inspiration and endless answerer of odd questions I popped up with along the way.

* * *

Ch 14 - You're Home Again.

Harry woke to a persistent tapping at the window, and fumbled around for his glasses in the darkened dorm. Ron was drooling on his own bed, asleep, and Neville had moved to his desk to work on an essay. The tornado of clothing strewn across the bed next to his told Harry that Dean had been up at some point while he was sleeping.

Letting Hedwig in, Harry stretched and checked the clock above the door. It seemed to be getting close to dinnertime…maybe. Dinner was at five, and the watch said four and thirty five. Hedwig squawked at him and Harry gave up on the math. Unrolling the parchment and ignoring the dreaded newspaper, Harry immediately recognized Snape's writing.

_The news has been leaked. Go with Plan September._

_- Dad._

_P.S. Return my tie at once, thief._

Harry unrolled the newspaper and blinked at the headline, before starting to laugh. He got a questioning look from Neville, and Ron sat up quickly out of his nap, mumbling about spiders and bacon. Harry smirked and held up the paper.

"They didn't even get my name right."

"Harry James Snape?" Ron asked, rubbing his face with the side of his bed sheet as he squinted at the paper.

"There's a fidelius-like spell on my file at the family services office. No one can find out my real name unless Snape, the family services wizard, or I tell them." Harry said. He stood up and stretched, wincing when he accidentally hit his ear. Apparently the babelfish was something he'd need to remember to remove before going to bed.

The door to the dorm creaked open further as Seamus and Dean barged in, looking to change before dinner.

"Are you going to deny it?" Neville asked from his desk, putting away his quill and parchment.

"Nope. No sha…point to do that." Harry shrugged. He shirked his dress trousers and searched around in his trunk for one of his new pairs of jeans. Dinner did not require the uniform. Leaving the dress shirt, albeit wrinkly, Harry put a black jumper on top and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Deny what?" Dean asked, his shirt stuck trying to get over his hair.

"That Snape's my dad." Harry answered, putting his watch back on and feigning indifference. It was a bit hard to keep a straight face, as upon hearing the news Seamus tripped back onto his arse while trying to change his trousers.

"Bollocks!" Seamus blurted. "You're taking the piss!"

Harry tossed him the newspaper and searched around for an errant shoe.

"Does Snape care if you curse?" Neville asked, putting Trevor into a cage and ignoring Seamus' sputtering.

"I guess it would depend on the an...person." Harry answered, then realized what Neville had actually asked. "Oh, no. I don't swear much, but he's never told…said anything."

"You're telling us that Snape is actually your father?" Dean asked, looking gobsmacked.

"Adopted father." Ron said, standing by the door and petting his grumbling stomach.

"What?" Seamus asked, still wondering if it were true or not. "Severus Snape? The sadistic sonofabitch Slytherin?"

"That's the one. Tall, sarcastic, bit of a git, has a thing for black." Harry confirmed, not hiding his smirk.

"Well, Harry's not got the greasy hair, obviously." Ron snorted.

"Although." Neville stopped by the door, "You are blind as a bat, and you know what they say about Snape."

Harry laughed easily for the first time in a few days, thinking once again that Snape was a genius. He'd originally been skeptical of the September plan, as it was just a 'back to school' idea. Go back to classes and life at school with Harry just boldly acting as if everyone else was daft not to have known. Acting arrogant and slightly condescending, rather like Snape's normal professor persona. But he had to admit, the false bravado and 'so what?' attitude was working well. It'd be interesting to see what Snape did with his role in the plan, Harry thought with a grin.

"Rubbish. Absolute bullshit." Seamus shook his head, following Harry out anyway.

Harry walked into the Great Hall for dinner with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus. They'd arrived moments after the delivery of the Evening Prophet, and Harry figured Seamus had come along merely for the entertainment factor. He ignored the students staring and whispering at him, and sat down at his regular spot, chattering with his friends and laughing at Ron's bad jokes. Acting normal, just like the plan said. The room was quieter, other conversations down to a slow buzz, as Harry filled his goblet with pumpkin juice, ignoring the attention he was getting. Out of the corner of his eyes, however, he could see Snape put his own wand to his throat.

"I trust," Snape's low growl easily reached the far corners of the hall, "that you are all sufficiently able to feed yourselves without making too much of a mess, while you try to wrap your little brains around a belated and poorly written adoption announcement."

There was silence as the students stared between Snape and Harry, and then the clang of cutlery as dinner appeared. The message had been very clear from Snape: _this is not up for discussion_. It seemed like no one really knew how to act, and Harry smirked at the chastised look the other students were wearing. He was starting to feel a bit bolder, as he realized that it really wasn't anyone's business that he'd been adopted. Harry found himself thinking back to Spinner's End, and smiling.

It was a Monday night. Last summer on a Monday he could often be found in the kitchen, making an evening snack while Snape sat at the table and shuffled a deck of cards with precision. The cribbage board would be set and the radio would be alternating between rock music from Snape's teenage years and the news (which Snape would provide scathing and often hilariously sarcastic commentary for). Harry would ask just the right questions to provoke Snape into a rant about the general idiocy of those in charge. Laughter broke through his thoughts, one of Ron's jokes had been a hit, and Seamus snorted pumpkin juice with a loud choking sound. Maybe Snape would let him invite his friends over this summer, Harry thought, still smiling.

For his part, Snape said in his regular seat and gave the hall his customary scowl. He noted that fewer Slytherins were sitting at the table than before, as McGonagall and he had assumed, the children of certain death eaters had been pulled. Snape had no delusions that all of his students could have been saved from a life of servitude from the Dark Lord. He was no saint, no charity case professor, and if he could provide a Voldemort-free environment for the Slytherins smart enough to see past the propaganda, that was enough for him. On his second sweep of the room, Snape noted something buzzing around a Weasley head at the Gryffindor table, and pulled his wand. With practised accuracy he pointed it in the direction of his son and grabbed the nearest goblet. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

"Accio beetle."

He watched with satisfaction as a small brown object tumbled through the air towards him, landing on the table and immediately being quarantined under the goblet.

"Severus? All right there?" Sprout asked, pouring some goblin made wine into her goblet.

"Perfect, Madame. Merely adding to my stores of ingredients." Snape answered. He transfigured the goblet into a little cage and held it up for inspection; pleased to see tiny little squares around the beetle's eyes, almost as if they were glasses.

"Beetles," Snape continued, surprising Sprout by being conversational, "are remarkably useful in a variety of different potions. Their eyes, for example, are used in most healing bases, their shells are used in potions that alter thinking habits, and their innards are used for home repair and defense brews."

Sprout stared at him as if he were a venomous tentacula in search of a victim.

"Their brains, most interestingly, are the only thing that hasn't been found to aid in any potion. Absolutely useless." Snape finished, tapping the side of the cage with his wand and giving it an evil smile.

….

Tuesday night held an impromptu match for the Gryffindor quidditch team, one that had been set up just for fun between the whole house. It was windy and snowy out, but the visibility had been good and there was still an energetic buzz left over from Monday's party, so McGonagall had kicked them out to burn it off. Harry was in an excellent mood, as even though Snape hadn't quite given him the go ahead to go flying (something about ensuring his balance wasn't affected), he'd performed at his best and captured the snitch before the other pick up team's seeker.

Most of the other Gryffindors, upon realizing that being Snape's son made Harry no different than the same bloke they'd been rooming with for five and a half years, had gone back to their regular behaviour around with him. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws kept their distance as usual, but even they couldn't help but admit that Snape showed absolutely no favouritism towards Harry. He endured pointing and snickering from some of them, but it wasn't any worse from when Harry had been accused of being the heir of Slytherin, so it was easy to ignore.

Only the Slytherins seemed to be truly conflicted, some hating Snape for killing the Dark Lord, others hating Harry as well for helping, and others disliking Harry for slipping in and usurping their favoured place in the eyes of their Head of House. Of all students, Harry thought as he ran with mud encrusted shoes through the dungeons, it figured that the Slytherins had the meanest jealousy streak. All in all, it hadn't been a bad day. He turned another corner and side stepped to the right to avoid a stick wall (one student had been a little too enthusiastic with enlarging a muggle sticky tape bug trap) and briefly considered just hopping on his broom and flying the rest of the way.

Snape would kill him, but it would be quite worth it.

Nonetheless, he arrived at Snape's flat on foot and burst inside, dropping his broom by the coat rack.

"Dad? Dad, are you hibernation?" Harry called, walking into the living room and shedding his shoes. The wall sconces were already lit as he walked in, so Snape was around somewhere. He passed into the kitchen, wincing at the cold stone that he felt through a hole in his sock, and checked the fridge for any leftovers. Snape usually ate in the Great Hall but sometimes a plate of cheese or some fruit could be found.

"Hello?" Harry called again, taking some cheese out of the fridge. There were some crackers and peanut butter in the cabinet, so he put them out on a plate, singing horridly off key to a U2 song.

"Keep your caterwauling to the shower, thank you." A deep voice came from the doorway and startled Harry out of his precise application of peanut butter to the cracker in his hand.

"Bird kept spot in the onion ring whoosh fast on brooms and I got lucky. Scored. No, I got the golden bitch." Harry smiled happily, sucking errant peanut butter of his finger.

Snape blinked slowly and looked down towards the floor, where Harry's muddy feet and trousers had tracked spots in.

"Have you joined some sort of bizarre adult quidditch league I was previously unaware of?" Snape asked, drawing his wand out of his sleeve and pointing it at Harry.

"No." Harry replied with a confused look on his face. "Flying game I won and captured the snitch. I didn't trip."

Harry placed a precarious three stack of crackers in his mouth, cupping his hand under his chin to catch the crumbs.

"You played quidditch on a broom before I could assess the safety of such an action." Snape clarified, scourgifying Harry's feet and the bottom of his trousers.

Harry nodded and picked up the chunk of cheese he'd sliced for himself.

"You can't babygate me my whole life." Harry said with a stern tone, before popping the cheese into his mouth. He had goosebumps on his arms from the chilly and mucky clothes he was still wearing from quidditch, and shivered slightly as he scratched the back of his sweat dampened hair. Perhaps he should have grabbed his cloak on the way to the dungeons.

Snape looked a mixture of exasperated and unimpressed.

"What part of guardian do you not understand?" Snape asked, spelling clean the footprints on the floor. "Go take a shower before you come down with some heretofore unknown malady."

Harry looked at the wand that was pointed at him and guarded another peanut butter cracker to his chest.

"I'll shower later."

"You'll shower now and stop making a mess of my kitchen, if you know what's good for you." Snape glared.

"I can resist the imperius curse." Harry said, trying to sound menacing. He backed up a little towards the fridge.

"Lesson number seven, Mr. Snape. When someone acts tough," Snape warned advancing towards Harry, "call their bluff."

With the tiniest flick of his wrist, Snape had Harry floating over the kitchen in mere seconds. Cheese flew out of Harry's hand towards the floor and crackers dropped gracelessly (landing peanut side down, interestingly, the theory applied to crackers as well as bread it seemed), and a struggling Harry was floated out towards the hallway.

"What the hell?" Harry gasped, more amused than annoyed. "You can't levitate me to the tub!"

A rushing sound of water from the vicinity of the bathroom suggested otherwise, as Snape walked Harry down the hall.

"I believe you'll find I can." Snape answered, with a smirk.

…

Harry found himself extremely tired after his hot shower, and wrapped in two towels made his way sleepily to the guest room of Snape's flat. He'd barely managed to get dressed into the spare pajama pants from the dresser before he heard a knock at the door.

"C'm in." Harry grumbled, putting his wand on the table.

"You'll be mighty embarrassed in the halls if anyone sees you returning to Gryffindor tower in those pants." Snape pointed out, walking into the room.

"No, no, bed here." Harry yawned, pulling the sheets up and untucking them.

"No, you will not take advantage of having a father on staff, especially with everyone now knowing. Back up to the dorm." Snape crossed his arms, watching Harry turn back to the dresser and search for a shirt.

"It's Tuesday." Harry blinked at him, shivering slightly in the chilly air. Snape wondered if the little idiot had set the charmed window to 'open'.

"Accio Aberdeen shirt." Snape commanded, and caught the blue shirt as it came flying out of the clean laundry pile. "I don't care if it's Christmas."

"Thanks Dad." Harry murmured, pulling the shirt on over his head. He turned and did a little dive towards the bed, landing on his stomach and elbows. "M'cold."

"Because you were stupid and went flying in a snowstorm. You have a warm bed upstairs." Snape muttered, yanking the covers from under Harry, flipping him over roughly in the process.

"Yeah, another bed upstairs." Harry agreed, burrowing further. He took his glasses off and blindly flailed his arm towards the night table, his aim off by a good half a foot.

"You are a ridiculous boy." Snape huffed, catching the glasses.

"What time are we launching rooster?" Harry mumbled into the pillow. Snape took a moment to roll Harry's head to the side while he figured out what on Earth Harry had asked.

"Accio babelfish." Snape incanted softly, cupping his hand next to Harry's ear. He caught the small yellow worm and placed it with a sticking charm onto the night table.

"Early. I shall set the hounds of hell on you before sunup." Snape answered, mussing Harry's hair roughly and pushing his head into the pillow.

"Mmm. 'kay. Night." Harry muttered, waving his arm in a pathetic attempt to bat Snape's hand away.

…

"Snape, what on Earth…?" Scrimgeour sputtered, burning his tongue on hot coffee and ungracefully spitting it back into his mug. He placed the mug down on the desk amongst the haphazard piles of paper, glancing quickly to the clock. Not quite eight in the morning.

"Charming." Snape said, barely keeping his tone polite. He sat in one of the chairs opposite and Harry followed suit, keeping his mouth shut. Snape hadn't ordered him to, but Harry was under no illusions of having any conversational skills to match Snape's.

"Mr. Potter and I would like to enact clause six B of the law for Magical Retribution Against Wizarding Persons And Property."

"You would, would you?" Scrimgeour grunted, taking a seat at his desk. "Against whom?"

Snape placed the cage with the beetle on the desk. "Having my family affairs broadcast in the newspaper is not something I'm particularly fond of."

"Part of being a celebrity, I hear." Scrimgeour commented, staring at the beetle. It seemed to be having a panic attack in the cage. He picked up a bundle of papers, from the stack that had been labeled urgent a few days ago, and looked hard at Harry. "Never pictured either of you as morning people."

"All hours of the day have their merits. Avis passeridae." Snape murmured, his lips twitching upward as four brown sparrows burst out of his wand and immediately started circling the cage.

"Is that so? And what benefit does it have to coming here so damn early in the morning to tell me you're going to curse Rita Skeeter? Do _not_ tell me that you're the reason she's gone missing." Scrimgeour glared, grabbing for his coffee again. He slammed it irritably on the desk after taking a large gulp. "And what the hell does that beetle have to do with anything?"

"That's Rita Skeeter." Harry said, a small smile on his face, watching the birds dive-bomb the cage unsuccessfully. The beetle inside let out a high-pitched squeak.

"Sweet shit in a cauldron." Scrimgeour exhaled, tossing a thick file in the vicinity of his bookcase.

Harry bit back a snort and scratched his wrist. Snape had made him wear dress clothes today, but they were actually rather casual. Scrimgeour himself looked to be dressed in sturdy work robes, and from the shape of his office, was a much more hands on kind of Minister than Fudge had been.

One of the birds landed on top of the cage and the beetle shrunk into a little ball.

"Being that she is an unregistered animagus, I've taken the opportunity to provide you with a set of registration papers, with a list of accompanying fines." Snape banished the birds and slowly smiled. "For your convenience."

"Naturally." Scrimgeour immediately said, as if he didn't believe a word of Snape's hospitability. "Once this news gets out I imagine the Daily Prophet will be facing quite a few fines as well."

Harry smiled at this, thinking about how many other people would be wanting revenge on Rita Skeeter.

"Set her to rights, Snape, and then you can hex her. You know the rules, no unforgivables and within all the limits set in section thirty-four."

"She's already been cursed." Snape responded blandly, unlocking the cage and stunning the beetle. He lifted her out and placed her on the floor, incanting the spell to reveal animagi. A frazzled and angry Rita Skeeter appeared, glasses skewed and green business suit rumpled. Snape and Harry stood and turned to leave the office as Skeeter spouted some rather vulgar phrases.

"You already cursed her!" Scrimgeour snapped, glaring at them. "We have procedure to follow here Snape, it's not just an eye for an eye. Not even for ex-death eaters." Scrimgeour lifted a rather bony finger and jabbed it at him.

"He's a waspish and bitter old bastard, trying to get my accounts. Oh yes, I know you're trying to trade in on my famous name, you Machiavellian excuse for a professor." Skeeter announced, glaring confidently at him.

Scrimgeour blinked.

"Merlin Snape, did you invent your own curse? Subsection five C of the law demands it be curable."

"It shall wear off in a few years. It merely illudes that each conversation she overhears is about her." Snape shrugged.

"Begone from my sight, you meddling little fiend. I've done my year's silence." Skeeter spat, looking at Harry.

"Not positive things, either." Harry finished, smiling at Scrimgeour.

Snape inclined his head as he guided Harry out the door. "Good day, Minister."

…

Most of the lifts whizzing past the first floor were full, but one finally stopped for Snape and Harry, and much to Harry's chagrin, it contained several reporters who looked like hunters gazing at their prey. None of the other cars were stopping, as they were all full of Ministry employees arriving for the workday and regular citizens appearing for meetings and appointments. Snape let a slow and rather malicious looking smile grace his face, and Harry tried to hide his suspicion as they stepped into the lift, facing the reporters.

"You may begin." Snape intoned, not looking welcoming in the least. "You have five minutes." The door clanged behind them and the car started moving, unaffected by the scramble of five reporters searching for quills and parchment.

"Is it true you adopted Harry Potter?" A short little wizard blurted, his blue quill flashing as it waited for the answer.

Snape withdrew his wand from his sleeve very slowly.

"Someone who is not an utter dunderhead may begin."

"Why did you adopt Harry Potter?" Another wizard asked, as the first molded towards the back of the lift. Four department memo airplanes buzzed around his head.

"As much of a weapon as he was made, even the Boy Who Lived needs a family." Snape said smoothly. Harry bit back the urge to growl at the nickname.

"Harry, were you imperiused?"

"I didn't give you permission to use my first name." Harry said, glad Snape had made him drink a calming potion at breakfast in addition to wearing the babelfish. "And no. I can resist the imperius curse."

"Imperius and the Killing Curse? How powerful are you that you can resist two of the three unforgivables?" The face was narrowed and there was a suspicious tone to the question.

"Anyone with half a brain and this boy's level of determination can learn to throw off an imperius curse." Snape responded levelly.

Harry crossed his arms and gave his best Snape glare.

"I can tell you that when I was 14, I discovered very well how much the cruciatus curse affects me."

"Er, right." The reporter replied, watching like a hawk as Snape started twirling the end in his hand.

"I guess what we all want to know is why you didn't tell anyone about the adoption." A brave reporter from the Daily Prophet commented. He was backed up with a pathetic 'yeah' by another colleague.

"_You all_ don't wish to know anything. The wizarding world is content to go about their boring every day lives, open a paper with their morning tea, and have someone like you tell them what they need to be nosy about. You're merely begging to hear some bit of slightly scandalous information because in order to sell the paper, you need something drastic to ensnare their pitiful attention spans." Snape was tapping his wand against his forearm, and it was making a small humming sound.

"Ludicrous! The Daily Prophet reports the gritty truth to the public. We do our best to inform…"

"Pish you do." Snape cut him off. "Ravenclaw, aren't you? When is the last time you read an article you gathered information for?"

"I skim them when I get the chance. I'm surprised you recognized me, you're just as much a bastard now as you were in school." The man gritted his teeth, bending his quill slightly in his grip.

"Of course I am, and don't flatter yourself." Snape sneered, in a tone identical to his normal domineering potions lecture voice. "I don't remember half the Slytherins I taught, never mind any other student. It is evident in your unwavering quest for information, which you think you are owed, instead of it being a privilege granted. Your ridiculous lack of common sense in following up to see that all your hard work actually goes into mediocre and slanderous rags is a trait shared by quite a few of your house as well."

Snape had his head titled slightly up so he was staring down his nose at the man, who at this point was rather flustered and looked to be at a loss for words. Snape jammed the red panic button on the lift panel, causing the car to jerk to a stop almost level with the sixth floor. None of them moved to start the lift again, and they all paused to listen to the chirpy female recording that greeted them. _Please do not press this button again._

"Your assertion that everyone deserves the noble truth indicates that one of your parents must have been a self-righteous Gryffindor." Snape finished, looking rather pleased with his assessment. Harry was leaning against the wall panel next to the door, arms crossed against his chest and a wide smirk on his face. He was thoroughly enjoying the tongue lashing, and glad as hell that he wasn't at the end of it.

"He's a Gryffindor." The reporter sneered, nodding at Harry.

"Not all of us are perfect. He's made up for it." Snape said dismissively.

"Prig." Harry muttered.

"Are you married?" Snape suddenly asked. He ignored Harry and looked the reporter up and down with a disdainful look.

The reporter stared at him blankly. "Yes. What has that to do with anything?"

"And your wife? What's her maiden name? Did she come from a pureblood family? Is that why you married her?"

"That is absolutely none of your business."

"And yet you wish to know why I would chose to adopt a boy. Tsk tsk, Mr. Big Shot Reporter. It seems it isn't all fair in life and war."

"Harry Potter is a celebrity, and so are you. This is part of destroying the worst wizard in a century." The reporter huffed, his quill obnoxiously flying on the parchment beside him.

"No." Snape stopped, holding up the hand not carrying his wand. The reporters flinched regardless.

"Harry Potter and I are two wizards who managed to get off their arses and kill a man everyone else was afraid to. That's it. One paragraph, perhaps two, for the history books, and nothing more. This boy owes nothing else to anyone."

He spun and wrenched open the doors, pushing Harry through to drop a step onto the floor. Snape followed immediately after, spelling the lift door shut after him.

"Come. We'll take a portkey back." Snape grumbled, stalking off down the hall towards the Portkey office.

"Actually." Harry stopped. He stared at the bulletin board outside of the Floo Network Authority Office, at a picture of himself that gave a wary smile. "Dad?"

Snape stopped and turned, robes billowing around his legs. He looked tired, but satisfied with how things had turned out.

"Can you take me to see my parents?"

There was only a minute flicker to Snape's eyes, something unidentifiable that flashed across his face before it set back into a closed expression.

"I suppose it's time." Snape answered, turning once again to walk with slower steps towards the Portkey Office.

…..

The cemetery was open, the front gates propped up with an old stone that looked like it had been taken from the surrounding wall of the area. Snape led the way with sure step, and Harry noted that Snape walked as if he'd been to the cemetery before and knew the exact path.

"Professor?" Harry asked, walking through the rows and noticing a few names that he'd seen before in his History of Magic book.

"Pardon?" Snape asked, walking slowly through the slush-covered trail.

"That scar on your neck, you got that for asking Voldemort not to kill my family, didn't you?"

Snape stopped, and even though he didn't turn, Harry could see the flinch.

"I received the scar asking that your mother be saved." Snape grunted. He still didn't move, just kept his head straight and his gaze somewhere in the distance by the bronze statue of a soldier.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, before snapping it shut again as he thought over Snape's admission. Snape had only asked to save his mother.

"Did you adopt me to make up for that…request?" Harry said, in a small voice. He wasn't his mother, but he was the only thing left of her and perhaps Snape had gotten to the point where he was even willing to put up with a James Potter look alike in order to keep some link to Lily, as it seemed he cared enough about her to want to save her life.

"No." Snape answered immediately. He finally turned to look at Harry, his face carefully blank.

"Did Mum ask you to look out for me? Are you doing this for her?"

"Do you remember the memory you saw last year?" Snape asked, eyebrow raised. Harry immediately blushed.

"That was the last time I spoke to Lily Evans. I am not doing _this_, as you call it, for her." Snape beckoned Harry forward and they walked down one of the side rows, finally coming to stand at the Potter's grave. Snape stood back, allowing Harry a moment to himself.

It had been the last time Snape had actually spoken to Lily, that didn't involve anything strictly school related. They'd never again gone anything beyond "Pass the crushed spider legs" after that. It was not, however, the last time that Snape had attempted to contact her. He'd sent an owl a few hours before Voldemort had arrived at the Potter home on that disastrous night, a short and signed note, saying 'I'm sorry.' The note was nowhere to be found in the home when the death eaters and aurors searched it mere hours later, and Snape never saw the owl again. Whether Lily had received his apology or not would never be answered for him.

Harry stepped back from the grave, his eyes glistening and his breath catching. Snape automatically fished a black handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it over. He stepped up towards the small stone, tracing his fingers around Lily's name. He heard Harry's footsteps receding, and allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and remember his childhood friend. His only friend.

"The most I ever did for you was to outlive you. But that is much." Snape whispered.

….

Snape took Harry to the small cottage after, down at the end of a narrow street of row houses, blanketed by a layer of thin snow. Grass stuck through the white flakes at points, and Harry shivered at the grey sky. The cottage was homey and comfortable, worn stone around the front gate as welcoming as it probably had been when his parents had lived there. As it came into focus Harry saw the damage that had been done to one of the rooms in the top corner of the house, his baby room. Harry paused by the gate to stare, taking in the amount of destruction the backlash from the Killing Curse had caused.

Snape put his hand on the stone wall, and a small plaque rose from somewhere under the weeds that had grown on the inside of the gate. Harry read the inscription, eyes blurring as he finally saw a proper dedication to the sacrifice his parents had made. Other messages had been left there, old notes from years ago expressing condolences as well as congratulations to Harry. Newer and more exuberant messages had been scribbled on top in the past few days, with Snape's name added to the well wishes.

"I'm sure your parents would love to see my name on a memorial for them." Snape couldn't help but comment, at least managing to keep most of the sneer out of his voice.

"Full round, isn't it? Full circle. You damned them, and you freed them." Harry replied, sounding far more mature than any normal sixteen year old had the right to be.

"Did you have any second thoughts to telling the headmaster that Draco was planning to kill him?" Snape asked, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself.

Harry stared ahead at the pale green porch door at the end of the small garden path. The trees lining the sides of the garden were overgrown and scruffy, matching his own messy hair and his father's before him. The garden, barren in the cold January sunlight, was likely as vibrant and alive as his and his mother's eyes in the summer.

"No." He rested his own hand against the gate and startled back when it clicked open.

"You're home again." Snape murmured, looking very reluctant to take any step further.

Harry crossed the gate hesitantly, feeling warmer despite the bitter air.

"Dad? I don't want to go in alone." Harry paused, looking back over his shoulder.

The pale green door led to a small mudroom, disheveled wellies in the corner under a window filled with cobwebs. On the ledge were dead wild flowers in a dried up small glass, the water line marked around the glass from where it had laid stagnant for so many months before evaporating. There was a fold up muggle pram leaning against the wall, next to an old fashioned broomstick.

Harry's hand felt welcome on the door handle as he went to push it open, flinching slightly at the bubblehead charm that Snape had silently cast around his head.

"The house has been under a Ministry preservation and protection spell for fifteen years. The air inside will be a little less than pleasant." Snape explained, nodding at Harry to go ahead.

The door opened with nary a sound, as if it had been as well oiled and maintained. The inside of the house was cooler than the unprotected mudroom and Harry gasped as he looked around. The living room was directly in front of him, ugly brown and yellow patterned tiles from the front hall leading to yellow shag carpeting in the living room. Brown and cream coloured damask wallpaper covered the walls and the chesterfield was a revolting pea soup green. In his memories of the night Voldemort had killed his parents, he'd never really paused to look around the room.

"What the hell." Harry breathed, trying to reconcile how on earth the hideous rose and china patterns of his Aunt Petunia's tastes could ever be linked to his mother's…specialties.

"Your parents bought this cottage almost twenty years ago." Snape commented, sounding amused at Harry's reaction. "As colour blind as your father was, he never minded that Lily took such a vested interest in the high fashion of the time."

"Ugh." Harry commented, turning to go back to the hall and see what other rooms he could find. He paused, startled, in front of one of the framed photos in the hallway. It had been clear and coloured as if it had been taken earlier that day when they first entered, but was now yellowing at a rather rapid rate, and the edges of the photo faded.

"The house is no longer jam. Preserved." Harry said, running his fingers along the frame. Two pieces of owl mail were on the side table against the wall, and the corners of the parchment were starting to curl upon themselves with age. To his left, the pale green curtains in the window seemed to sigh as they slumped down in their fastenings, weighed by the passing of time.

"This could have been my shelter." Harry muttered to himself, staggering towards the stairs. Snape snatched his arm to catch him from going up and Harry slumped to the bottom step. "But instead it all started with a boy in a cupboard."

"Did it?" Snape prompted, picking up the 1981 Daily Prophet from the side table as he thought about his own past. His life had started with a boy cowering in a corner.

"Sometimes, late at night when the spiders came out, I used to wish that magic could take me away." Harry continued, talking half to himself instead of Snape as he sat on the stairs.

"Hmmm." Snape responded distractedly, remembering just how much magic couldn't fix everything.

"Then I became Merlin. No. A wizard. And sometimes I wanted to go back to being just a boy." Harry was picking at the faded runner that covered the steps.

"You were never destined to be just a boy." Snape answered immediately, dropping the paper.

"I could have been regular!" Harry blurted, slamming his fist into the railing and barely wincing at the pain. "Normal! All I queried. No, proved, chose…fuck! Wanted. All I ever wanted was normal."

"Yes." Snape answered, looking as stern and forbidding as ever, but his eyes betraying his concern. "You could have been normal, and Voldemort would not have died. We'd have been in a full blown war."

"My parent unit…parents still here." Harry glared at Snape's logic.

"Perhaps." Snape immediately said, grasping Harry's shoulders with his strong fingers. He looked straight at Harry's eyes, ignoring the redness. "Your parents were aurors; whether Voldemort existed or not they were at risk. You would have had a normal life with them for as long as it lasted. But how would you have grown up? Arrogant and spoiled? Like James Potter had been? Like Draco Malfoy?"

"No!" Harry's head snapped up and his eyes flashed. "I'm not! You…you always…you're arrogant!"

"No, I'm self-important. There's a difference." Snape corrected smugly. "How did the younger Dursley fair? If you'd been treated the same as him, would you have been selfless enough to face a prophecy that either led to victory or death?"

"I didn't have a choice." Harry said clearly, peering through the railings of the stairs and checking alongside the wall. As if he were looking for something.

"Yes, you did. The headmaster was always touting how one's choices defined a person more than anything, and the man was right. You could have run away from the prophecy and the Dark Lord, and likely died prematurely anyway. Instead, on a cold and rainy night in December, you came to me with an idea of how to finally destroy him." Snape was tapping his foot, a sign that his patience was running out.

"I'm a murderer." Harry concluded, his voice much deeper than it normally was. His head was in his hands, and a small swipe of blood had been spread over the palm of his right hand from where he'd hit the railing.

"Join the club." Snape said gruffly, pulling Harry up off the stairs and into a strong hug. After only a few seconds, Harry wrapped his arms around Snape, burying his face in Snape's thick winter robes and making a mess of his glasses.

"The Weasleys and Granger gave you friendship and a pseudo-family. You have a home now in Stockport, and a guardian in myself. Had you grown up here, you never would have known how much you valued those things, and just what you stood to lose if Voldemort won."

Harry gave a defeated laugh and stepped back. It sounded as if he was close to tears again.

"That's why I was banished to a cupboard? So I would know what I was fighting for?" Harry wiped his face with his cloak sleeve, earning a look of disgust from Snape.

"I do not approve of the methods. However," Snape held out his arm to apparate them back to Hogwarts, "had you stayed here, you would not have become my son."

As Harry felt the tug of apparition, he felt reassured that he had not settled for second best by choosing Snape as his family.

….

The alarm in the Gryffindor dorms was a lion roaring. It still frightened the bejeezus out of Harry when he was in a deep sleep, but at least he never fell out of his bed like Seamus did. On Thursday morning it sounded at eight am, echoing through the room and dissipating at the blue streaked windows. Evidently it had snowed overnight, sometime when they were busy laughing and plotting summer mischief around the stove heater in the room. Four wands, as Neville had risen early to tend to the greenhouses, pointed in the general area of the alarm and four spells hit it in rapid succession. Warm blankets and pillows called instantly, and Harry fell back asleep to the thought that the snowstorm outside smelt slightly of campfire and evergreen.

A little more than an hour later saw Ron and Harry laughing as they ran through the halls of Hogwarts, robes flapping behind them like the demented capes of two super heroes.

"Just remember," Ron huffed as they turned the corner to the defense hall, "if you see a bat on the desk, don't assume it's not Snape."

Harry snorted inelegantly as he skidded to a stop one door down from their class, remembering their first time being late to a Transfiguration lesson.

"Three, two, one." He said, catching his breath. Ron stood beside him and they shook their fists in the air three times, muttering bludger, cauldron, wand.

"Hah!" Harry said triumphantly, smashing his fist against Ron's pointed finger. "Bludger beats wand."

"Shit." Ron grumbled, before straightening his tie. "How is it fair that Seamus and Dean only had History of Magic this morning?"

"Just go, we'll lose more points if we're later." Harry answered, pushing Ron towards the door.

They'd obviously interrupted Snape mid sentence, as he was standing at the front with his hand raised as if making a point. Leaning against his desk, robes falling still behind him, he looked as imposing as ever. The class was quiet and openly stared as Ron walked in first, head up and taking the full brunt of Snape's displeased growl.

"Weasley, Snape. Ten points from Gryffindor." Snape intoned, glaring at their backs until they'd taken their seats. Snape was the only one that called him by his adoptive name, which Harry rather liked. He'd started at Hogwarts as Harry Potter, and he'd finish there as the same. Hermione tutted as she passed them two muffins stolen from breakfast and they slid into their seats.

"Sorry, sir." Harry responded, apologizing for the disrespect more than the oversight of time. And with Snape's nod of his head, Harry realized that he really meant it. Harry had great professors, even better friends, and part of the community who were ready to stand with him to fight for their freedom. Standing before him, however, was the one man that Harry needed to keep being himself. Snape had seen him at his sickest, seen him drunk and stupid, seen him in tears, and saved him when he was threatened. Snape knew that he only liked coffee in the morning, that his socks never matched, and that he had to daydream before going to bed. Snape had grounded him for misbehaving, given him chores to keep him busy, and expected him to follow a proper curfew. Snape had put Harry back together.

"Remove that stupid smirk from your face and turn to page four hundred and seventy five. Today we will be discussing the benefits and uses of patronuses in personal defense." Snape commanded, his voice serious.

Harry continued smiling as he flipped his book open. There were currently twelve people in the class of twenty-seven who could cast a fully corporeal patronus, thanks to the Dumbledore's Amy lessons he taught last year. He knew Snape would likely be surprised, and hopefully, Harry thought as he remembered his eager and energetic new patronus, he'd be proud of Harry too.

Fin.

* * *

AN2: Snape's words to Lily are a quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay. This story is a BIG thank you to all of you, to everyone that read, reviewed, and enjoyed. Also my way of giving back to all the authors who gave me such great stories to read as well.

Thank you again, and Happy writing!


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